


That Summer

by LulaIsAKitten



Series: Young Cormoran [1]
Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: Angst, Coming of Age, Commune in Norfolk, F/M, I may have over-warned, Teen Anger, Teenager Cormoran, Teenager Lucy, Underage Drinking, Underage Sex, and he’s not quite sixteen, and it’s really only a small part of the story, basically it’s just Cormoran losing his virginity, better safe than sorry 😁, but only just, hence the Underage label, it’s mostly about Corm and Leda and Lucy and how they interact as a family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-01-28
Packaged: 2021-02-25 14:40:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 14
Words: 22,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22317883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LulaIsAKitten/pseuds/LulaIsAKitten
Summary: There must have been a point in Cormoran’s life where he stopped being just a kid and his relationship with Leda changed. I decided to look at it. Set in the summer of 1990.Named after the Garth Brooks song.
Relationships: Cormoran Strike & Leda Strike, Cormoran Strike/Original Female Character(s), Lucy & Cormoran Strike
Series: Young Cormoran [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1615504
Comments: 160
Kudos: 38





	1. The Commune

“Here we are,” Leda called in the over-compensating singsong voice that set Cormoran’s teeth on edge. She swung the battered blue Talbot Horizon in through a gateway. The gate, half rotten and hanging off one hinge, leaned back against the hedge, a loop of frayed baler twine hanging from the latch.

Sat in the back of the car, Cormoran and Lucy exchanged glances but said nothing. Lucy had said very little the whole way, absorbed in her music that Cormoran could hear tinnily through the headphones that sat over her head, the foam pads resting against her ears. The Walkman had been a birthday present from Uncle Ted and Aunt Joan three weeks previously; she had barely put it down since, listening to her two cassettes over and over and periodically badgering Leda for more batteries.

Cormoran wondered whether batteries were even allowed at the commune. Leda’s latest adventure, which she had described to them in excited detail, was a self-sufficient commune in Norfolk. They had been in the car for hours, and Cormoran was desperate to pee, his belly uncomfortable as the car rocked and jolted up the long, stony drive to the huge ramshackle house that was to be their home for the foreseeable future.

The front door, painted with a lurid swirl of colours, opened and a woman in a vest top and a long flowing skirt stepped out onto the top step, waving at them as they approached. Her wavy blonde hair fell to her waist and was decorated with beads. Leda wound the window down.

“Star!” she shrieked, and they waved madly at each other, the car lurching and bouncing over a particularly deep pothole that made Cormoran swear viciously under his breath at the painful jolt to his bladder. Both distracted in their own ways, neither his mother nor his sister heard him.

Under Star’s direction, Leda drove round the side of the house to a large yard surrounded by outbuildings in various states of dilapidation. She drove into an open barn and parked between a rusty minibus and a motorbike, and jumped out to throw her arms round her friend.

Cormoran and Lucy followed more slowly, reluctantly emerging from the car to survey their new surroundings. As ever, Lucy hung back a little, to one side of and slightly behind her brother. She was still little for her age, and the height difference between them was marked these days. Cormoran had been over six feet tall the last time his mother had measured them, and she swore he was still growing, she said. He hoped so. He wasn’t yet sixteen, but he was learning that there were advantages to being bigger, looking older, not least of which was the ability to protect his sister, who was almost a foot shorter even though she was less than a year and a half younger.

Star turned to greet the youngsters and they smiled politely as introductions were made, Lucy hiding behind her fringe that she had deliberately grown long and floppy over her face. Cormoran had insisted on getting his hair cut good and short before they left - it would likely be months before he had access to a decent hairdresser again.

“Come and meet everyone.” Star linked her arm through Leda’s and led the way towards the back door of the house that led into a huge farmhouse kitchen. A large range stove dominated one end, and down the centre of the room ran an enormous table that was piled down the middle with clutter - candles, incense sticks, kids’ drawings, various tools and bits and pieces. An assortment of people sat around the table on the various mismatched chairs or wandered in and out, ranging in age from toddlers to a couple who looked about the age of his grandparents, Cormoran estimated.

Star rattled off a list of names, and Cormoran tried to remember the key ones. Lurking over by a far door, a girl about his age and an older boy, both redheads, were introduced as Freya and her brother Jackson. The smaller children he didn’t pay much attention to. An assortment of adults said hi. But the one that set him on alert was Star’s brother Rowan, tall and rangy with a long blonde plait down his back. He looked nondescript enough in himself, but it was the way Leda grinned at him and dropped her gaze shyly that caught her son’s attention. Cormoran gave a heavy inward sigh. This, then, was why they were here.

Lucy pressed closer to Leda and muttered something to her, and Leda rubbed her arm. “Of course, love,” she said. She turned to Star. “Can we freshen up? Long journey.”

“Of course,” Star echoed. “Let me show you where the downstairs loo is, and then we can have a cup of tea before I take you up to your rooms.”

Cormoran and Lucy were glad to escape the watching eyes of the other teens. They took turns in the cramped little loo in the hall, and Cormoran sighed with relief to finally empty his aching bladder. Perhaps the edge of jumpiness that this place gave him would ease off as well now.

Lucy was waiting for him in the hallway when he emerged. He gave her a stout smile, and she smiled tremulously back.

“We’ll be fine,” he told her. “They’ll soon be new friends.”

She nodded doubtfully and followed him back to the kitchen, where they were each given a cup of what Star considered to be tea. It tasted of hay and contained bits that looked like flower heads. Cormoran did his best not to grimace, and hoped that some proper tea bags and some milk would be forthcoming at some point.

Clustered around the end of the table, Leda and her new friends were already rolling joints. Cormoran and Lucy sat politely for a while and wondered what do to. They couldn’t even retire to their rooms, as they hadn’t been shown them yet. Lucy bit her nails and looked out of the window. Her Walkman, wrapped in its cord, sat next to her.

“I wonder what Ilsa’s doing,” she murmured.

Cormoran glanced at his watch, a cheap Casio digital that had little buttons for a light and to set the alarm on it. “On the bus, I guess,” he replied.

“Oh, yeah, they’re still at school,” Lucy said, her voice still low. She’d forgotten that they had left early. Leda had been treating this trip as an extended summer holiday, as though missing the last month of school was a treat.

Cormoran had wanted to stay and finish the school year, at least sit his fourth year exams so that he’d know what subjects he needed to work on for next summer, and he knew his uncle had remonstrated with his mother on the subject. He’d heard them, late at night in the living room when he’d gone down for a glass of water.

But Leda was adamant that she had to take this place in the commune while it was offered, overruling both her brother, and later her son when he’d tried to argue, in a way that made Cormoran’s blood boil these days. She’d met Star and her brother at Glastonbury festival a week ago and, in typical impulsive Leda fashion, had taken up the offered place in the commune without discussion, returning to Cornwall and immediately beginning to pack.

Lucy, deeply insecure and clinging to her mother, wouldn’t contemplate letting Leda go without them - last time Leda hadn’t come back for months - and she, too, begged Cormoran to come with them. This was what had swayed him in the end. Although resembling her father more than Leda, Lucy had an air of her mother’s haunting vulnerability about her, and combined with her own prettiness and newly burgeoning figure, was beginning to draw the attention of the boys in Cormoran’s year. He also noticed, because he was sensitive to such things after a lifetime of watching men move through his mother’s life, that their eyes lingered too on Leda’s daughter now. Lucy shrank under their gazes and hid herself in bulky jumpers and behind her brother. If Lucy was going, he was going too. And so he had capitulated, gritting his teeth when his mother smiled at him as though he was being a good little boy.

It was particularly galling to have to leave just when he was pretty sure that he’d been about to persuade Louise in their year at school to go out with him properly. He’d snogged her at the Easter disco, and again after school one night behind the back fence, and had been hopeful that if he declared her his girlfriend she might let him go a lot further. But she’d been angry and upset that he was disappearing off yet again, and refused to say goodbye to him, leaving him with only his memories of her cool tongue in his mouth and, briefly, the swell of her breast under his hand that he had longed to explore again. It had been so _soft_ , much softer than he’d expected.

All these thoughts ran through Cormoran’s head as he sat next to his sister, drinking stupid tea and watching his mother smoke dope and, as he did so often these days, carefully hiding his simmering resentment behind a genial smile. It didn’t do to look too hostile somewhere new. How many more times, he wondered. How many more stupid communes, crazy wild goose chases. How many more men to tolerate and shield Lucy from.

He whiled away the long minutes counting, a new pastime of his when the anger swelling behind his breastbone threatened to get too much. Three months till he’d be in the fifth year. Three years from then - thirty-six months - and he could go to university if he got good A levels. His Uncle Ted had explained it all to him. That was thirty-nine months from now. It seemed like an eternity, but if he kept counting, it would steadily reduce.

In his heart he knew it was only a handful of months until he could leave anyway if he wanted. He could walk out the door on his sixteenth birthday and leave his mother to her stupid men and her hippie life.

But that would leave Lucy, and she needed him. So he had a plan. University, a decent job, a permanent roof over their heads. Stability that Lucy craved, and that might make Leda finally settle somewhere and put down roots, stop wandering. Maybe even get a permanent job of her own with prospects rather than drifting from one dead-end job to another. He knew his mother wasn’t stupid. She just got bored and gave up on things too easily. Perhaps with a permanent place to live, she might stick at a job long enough to get high enough up the ladder to be interested in it. Perhaps she might make a go of selling her art, which she had always talked about but never got around to doing anything concrete towards, other than selling the odd piece to friends. Any suggestion of Joan’s that she might take a shelf in a shop or a display wall in a gallery had been met by derision from Leda. Art couldn’t be forced, she said. It had to be spontaneous. You couldn’t do it to order, to a schedule.

“Right, let’s get you unpacked,” Star said finally. Lucy, who had been drifting, almost dozing, jerked upright. She scrambled to her feet and stumbled out to the car behind her mother and brother, and they unloaded bags and boxes. An assembled gang of helpers (that didn’t include the other teenagers) cheerfully hefted their various possessions and carried them up to the top floor of the house, where three rooms stood empty. Cormoran and Lucy had single rooms next to one another, Leda a larger room across the hall. They had a bathroom on their floor that was only shared with one other room, and that room was currently empty.

“It’s chilly up here,” Star said, “but we’ve put you in the room that backs onto the chimney for the range, Lucy, so that should give you a bit of warmth. There are night storage heaters in the rooms that should give out some heat at the coldest times, and plenty more blankets in the cupboard at the end of the hall. At this time of year you should be fine.”

She pointed out of the windows with a long, elegant finger tipped with dark pink nail varnish. “You can see down to the village from here. It’s about a fifteen minute walk if you take the footpath across the field there. There’s a local shop with basic supplies and a pub, and buses to the nearest town for bigger stuff like a supermarket, chemist, banks and so on. But you won’t need much, we’re totally self sufficient here. The range runs off oil from a tank out the back, and the other downstairs rooms are lit by fires in the winter but we don’t bother much in the summer.”

Cormoran and Lucy nodded along politely. Cormoran privately wondered about schooling, but he supposed there was no point trying to get into a school locally for the last few weeks of term. He’d worry about next term then - it looked as though the children who lived here were all home schooled, as surely if they attended a school, they’d have been there when their new members arrived. Perhaps, if Lucy settled and the commune felt safe for her, he could go back to Cornwall in September.

Star’s toenails were painted the same colour as her fingernails. Cormoran realised he wasn’t listening properly, but she was already talking to Leda again, chatting about food arrangements and meal times. Lucy was starting to open her bags and boxes and lay out a few possessions, putting her hairbrush and her precious pink lipstick on the top of the chest of drawers across from her bed. Cormoran returned to his room and looked around, wondering what to unpack and hoping there was no point. He could at least get his cassette radio out and see what stations he could pick up. He tossed his current novel onto his bed and sighed and looked out of the window.

Lounging against the far fence at the back of the property, Freya and Jackson were looking up at their windows. Seeing him looking, Freya gave a toss of her red hair and looked away. Jackson held his gaze coolly for a long minute, and then pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. He lit one, tossed the match aside and spoke to his sister. Without looking back, the two strolled away round the side of the building.

Cormoran turned back to his unpacking.


	2. First Day

Cormoran was woken in the morning by a soft knock on his door. He grumbled a greeting, and the door opened quietly and Lucy slipped in. She had pulled her baggy jumper on over her pyjamas, which were a little small these days. Socks hid her feet. She smiled at him and clambered onto his bed to sit at the foot, her back to the wall.

Legs curled up out of her way, Cormoran drifted for a few minutes, waking slowly. Tendrils of a weird dream curled around his consciousness. He was very aware of not knowing the lie of the land, exactly where they were, the layout of the house. He’d dreamed he was searching for Leda and Lucy, going from empty room to empty room, all identical, finding no-one. Today would be a day to explore and figure out their new abode.

“I don’t know if Mum’s up,” Lucy said.

Cormoran yawned and rubbed his eyes. “What time is it?”

“About half eight.”

“Can you remember what Star said about breakfast?”

“No. I guess we’ll have to go and hunt.”

“Mm.” Cormoran dragged himself upright, pulling his T-shirt straight. “You sleep okay?”

Lucy shrugged.

“You can always come and find me, you know.”

She shrugged again. “I know.”

Cormoran swung his legs out of bed and reached for his jeans, began to pull them on over his boxers. “Come on. Let’s go find some toast or something. And tea without bits in it.”

Lucy giggled and nodded, and followed him out of the room.

The siblings soon discovered that, far from being the haven of freedom that Leda had described, the commune was governed by all manner of stupid rules. Certain rooms and sheds were allocated to certain people for their art or for storage. Complicated rotas described whose turn it was to cook, to chop wood, to clean out the chickens, to hoover or clean bathrooms. Each family group had a dedicated laundry day, and must negotiate if they needed to use the washing machine another day. Anyone could use the pottery wheel, but the kiln only fired once a week, on Thursdays, to keep costs down. No music after 10pm. No television at all (Lucy, addicted to Neighbours, was particularly horrified. Cormoran, who in Cornwall was allowed a small can of beer on Saturday nights to watch the Big Match with Uncle Ted, scowled). Weed was allowed, and maybe some mild mushrooms, but no harder drugs. Food was communal, to be decided by committee and paid for collectively, and therefore it was a matter of trust that no one would eat all the bread. Snacks didn’t appear to be an option. No biscuits were to be had anywhere, Cormoran and Lucy had discovered that morning on a thorough kitchen hunt. The only snacks seemed to be dried fruit and rice cakes.

These rules were droned at them by the elder couple of the group, Bear and Rainbow (“Bet they’re really called Graham and Sharon,” Cormoran muttered out of the corner of his mouth, making Lucy giggle and Leda frown). The household sat and listened and nodded wisely, and Cormoran surreptitiously counted heads. There were at least four other families besides their own, ranging from a young couple with toddler boys and another baby well on the way, through Freya and Jackson and their parents up to Bear and Rainbow. Cormoran managed to catch Freya’s eye a couple of times despite her determination not to look at him, and she blushed and dropped her head, hiding behind a curtain of her bright red hair. He was becoming hopeful that his summer wouldn’t be completely wasted after all.

At long last, the welcome routine was over, and they were formally initiated into the commune with a round of handshakes. Someone produced a guitar and someone else a tambourine, and Cormoran was possessed of a sudden desire to describe the scene to Ilsa and Dave, his best friends back in Cornwall. He had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing as the welcome song was played. Next to him, scarlet-cheeked, Lucy picked at her thumbnail in her lap.

As soon as they could, they escaped to explore, leaving Leda drinking flower tea and rolling a joint with Star and Rowan.

They strolled around the grounds, inspecting sheds and the log store, the chicken run and the vegetable plots and greenhouses. It all looked chaotic, but Cormoran, who helped Uncle Ted in the garden sometimes, knew enough to see that the crops were well planted with a range of fruits and vegetables to carry the commune through the winter. Old chest freezers in an outbuilding held huge sacks of flour. He guessed the bread must all be homemade. The flour was wholemeal. No Sunblest sandwiches until they got back to Cornwall, then.

Cormoran kept half an eye out as they explored, knowing they’d be being watched. Sure enough, as they rounded the back of the house, Jackson and Freya were waiting for them.

Lucy hesitated at once, drawing close to Cormoran’s arm, but he strode forwards, his big grin on his face, and stuck out a hand to Jackson. “Cormoran,” he said, firmly, forcing the older boy to shake his hand or look churlish.

They shook hands, eyeing one another up, and then Cormoran shook hands formally, but much more gently, with Freya, holding her gaze with his, trying to judge whether she might be an ally or would side with her prickly brother. Her clear, deep blue eyes, darker than Jackson’s, were inscrutable.

Lucy shook hands timidly with Jackson and smiled at Freya, ducking her head to hide behind her fringe again, half wishing she had a long flowery dress like Freya’s and half thankful for her jeans and big jumper.

“Aren’t you hot?” Freya asked, eyeing her, but Lucy wrapped her arms protectively around herself. “No.”

“Lucy feels the cold,” Cormoran said cheerfully. “So, what is there to do around here?”

Jackson scowled, and for a moment Cormoran recognised a kindred spirit, bored to tears in a silly hippie commune full of adults waffling about the meaning of life. “Not much,” he replied bitterly.

Cormoran grinned. “Best make our own entertainment, then.”

Jackson eyed him sideways. “Like what?”

Cormoran shrugged. “Well, there’s the more traditional pastimes like booze and fags,” he said, modulating his voice a little in case any house windows were open. “But they cost money. We need something that’s free. Anywhere to swim if we explore? Places to build dens?”

Freya’s face had lit up with a flicker of interest, but Jackson tossed his head haughtily. “Kids’ games,” he said dismissively.

“Better go in and discuss existentialism with the other grownups then,” Cormoran shot back, and was rewarded with a giggle from Freya, hastily bitten back as her brother glared at her. Jackson bristled and Lucy shrank a little.

There was a pause while the young men looked at one another. The girls waited.

Jackson’s eyes flickered to Lucy. “There’s a corner of the back field where we can’t be seen from the house,” he said suddenly. “We go hang out there and sunbathe.”

“Sounds good,” Cormoran said cheerfully, accepting the minuscule olive branch for what it was, and the four set off.

They skirted the sheds, climbed over a gate and walked along the edge of a meadow and round a corner. There was indeed a slight depression in the ground, making it totally private, lined on one side by trees and just far enough from the house. Jackson and Freya threw themselves down onto the grass.

Jackson drew his cigarettes from his pocket and offered them around. The girls shook their heads, but Cormoran took one, warning Lucy with a swift look not to react. He’d pinched the odd cigarette of his mother’s now and again to practise for just such a moment as this.

“Cheers,” he said lightly. “I’ll give you one back when I get some.” It was an empty promise, as he had no money beyond the few coins tucked into his jeans pocket and no idea where he might buy cigarettes in any case. But those were problems he could work on later.

He struck a match and lit the cigarette on the first try, and didn’t cough once, managing to look as though he smoked all the time back in Cornwall. Jackson stopped watching him after the first few puffs and he knew he’d got away with it, sensed he’d passed some kind of test.

Freya had edged closer to Lucy, and smiled at her. “How old are you?” she asked. “I’m fifteen, nearly sixteen. Jackson is seventeen.”

Lucy smiled back. “I’m fourteen,” she replied. “And Cormoran is—”

“Seventeen,” Cormoran butted in smoothly. “Just,” he added hurriedly. It was important to him suddenly to be a little older than Freya. He didn’t want her to think he was just a kid. Probably wise to be younger than Jackson, though.

The lie was accepted readily. Not for the first time, he was glad of his height and bulk. Even someone who actually was seventeen wasn’t questioning his assertion. _I’m only adding a year. And a bit,_ he thought. He didn’t dare look at Lucy, but she gave no reaction, picking a couple of daisies and starting to make a chain.

They passed a pleasant, if slightly tense, hour or so. Cormoran tried to manoeuvre the conversation so that he might chat to Freya, but he sensed that Jackson was trying to do the same with Lucy and that made his skin crawl. Freya had persuaded Lucy to remove her jumper and stretch out a little in the sun. Lucy arranged her loose T-shirt for maximum coverage, but enjoyed the sun on her arms.

Soon the girls were chatting about whatever it was girls talked about. Jackson offered Cormoran another cigarette and they smoked and made the odd remark. Cormoran felt highly on edge, trying to remember that he, too, was supposed to be seventeen. He was aware of Jackson’s eyes on Lucy, running across her backside in her jeans as the girls lay on their stomachs adding flowers to their daisy chain. Cormoran knew it was important for the peace of their settling in here that the other teenagers like them, but he didn’t want that to happen at the expense of his sister being ogled. He suddenly found himself wondering if Jackson, at seventeen, had real experience with girls that Cormoran, despite his best efforts, was lacking. He’d managed to snog a few, and memorably slide his hand up under Louise’s school blouse, but had not got much further.

A distant clanging sound was heard, and Freya sat up. Grumbling under his breath, Jackson stubbed his cigarette out on a patch of earth and tossed the butt into the hedge with the others. Lucy grabbed her jumper and started to pull it back on.

“What’s that?” Cormoran asked as they all clambered to their feet, their time clearly at an end.

“Dinner gong,” Jackson said darkly. “And then bloody chores.”

“I’m helping make the bread this afternoon,” Freya told Lucy. “Want to help?”

“You’ll be told what to do,” Jackson retorted.

Cormoran raised one eyebrow. “So much for freedom.”

Jackson snorted and their eyes met in their first proper moment of connection. “Exactly.”

They arrived back at the house to find the huge kitchen table full. The couple with the toddlers were in charge of dinner and supper today, and had made a huge vat of lentil and vegetable soup, with the last of the old batch of bread to be soaked in it. Leda and Star were chatting away, and Leda gave her children a dazzling smile as they came in with the other teens, clearly delighted at the thought of them all getting along. Cormoran avoided her gaze and slid into a place at the end of the table, making room for Lucy next to him and carefully ensuring that there was no room for Jackson on her other side. Disappointed, the older boy skirted the table to take a place opposite.

Oblivious, Leda turned back to her friend, launching into the next topic of discussion. Cormoran scowled into his soup and Lucy hid behind her fringe. Next time Cormoran glanced down the table, his mother was totally absorbed in the adults’ conversation, but Star was watching them closely. Her clear green eyes were almond-shaped, slightly hooded, and her appraisal made him uncomfortable. He turned his attention back to his bowl.


	3. Letters

The first week dragged, but Cormoran spent it sticking close to Lucy and learning the routines and layout of the commune. Mornings after breakfast and afternoons after chores were free time. One afternoon he and Lucy went down to the local village and explored. There was little there but the village shop and the pub. Cormoran bought them a bagful of pear drops to share on the walk back, and they wondered aloud what everyone at home in Cornwall was doing.

Leda had spent most of the week absorbed in long conversations with Star and Rowan. It was abundantly clear to Cormoran that she had her sights set on her friend’s brother, and her tinkling laugh, heavier than usual eyeliner and unsubtle flirting made him grit his teeth in rage. They were stuck in this stupid place, miles from home and friends and everything that gave Lucy security in life, because of their mother’s latest idiotic crush. He wished he really were seventeen and could drive the car. He’d pack Lucy up now and take her back to Cornwall.

They were making slow increments with Jackson and Freya, but it was hard work. The brother and sister stuck together just as Cormoran and Lucy did, preferring their own company and not going out of their way to welcome the strangers in their midst. Cormoran sensed Lucy would like to be better friends with Freya, but his instinct that Jackson would also like to get to know Lucy a lot better meant that he generally suggested activities that kept them apart. Fortunately Lucy was an avid reader and the commune had a good stock of books piled in higgledy-piggledy heaps in a room laughingly referred to as the library. She was working her way through them while Cormoran, in his room, pulled out his school books that he had hidden in a box under his bed and attempted to work out what lessons he might be missing. When he heard footsteps on the stairs, he shoved the books away and snatched out a football magazine.

Fortunately the weather held, and the Strike siblings were able to explore. They walked miles, circling out from the commune and back. They looked at the timetable at the bus stop, and then at the road map back at the commune and worked out where they were in relation to Cornwall. Lucy sighed a little at the distance and went upstairs and retreated into a book.

Cormoran had just begun to lose count of how many days they had been there - was it six or seven now? - when a letter from Cornwall addressed to all of them arrived. Leda opened it eagerly and pulled out smaller envelopes which she passed to Cormoran and Lucy. Her letter was from Ted and Joan, and full of news from back home. She’d rung them on the first night and given them the address of the commune.

Cormoran and Lucy took their letters upstairs. Lucy disappeared into her room with hers and shut the door.

Cormoran threw himself onto his bed and opened his. Inside were two smaller envelopes. He recognised Ilsa’s handwriting on one. Setting that aside, he opened the other, and drew a sharp breath as two five-pound notes fell out of it. It also contained a little letter in his aunt’s spidery handwriting asking him if he was well and reminding him to brush his teeth, which made him smile, and one from his Uncle Ted commenting on Arsenal’s latest signing and filling him in on the success of the village cricket club. A sudden longing for Friday nights at the clubhouse with his uncle and the rest of the team, being slipped half pints here and there until he was quite tipsy, filled Cormoran’s heart. There wouldn’t be much of the season left by the time he got back to Cornwall, if indeed they went back any time soon. It had seemed boring and provincial to him just weeks ago, but suddenly all he wanted was to be sneaking back into the house with his uncle and going straight to bed so that Leda wouldn’t smell the beer on his breath.

His throat tightened and he dashed tears from his eyes angrily. He set the letters aside and pocketed the money gratefully, and picked up Ilsa’s missive.

He was soon laughing at her tales of the end of term. Dave Polworth had apparently got hold of a canister air horn and taped it under their tutor’s chair. The resulting noise had terrified half the class and earned him detention every night for a week and a grounding at home, but Ilsa’s descriptions were brilliantly funny and Cormoran could just picture the scene. She filled him in on various bits of gossip, assured him with a winking face that Louise was still pining for him, and signed off with a request for a letter back and that he not forget them all.

Much cheered, Cormoran put the letters away and tucked them into the box with his school books. He’d read them again later. With the money in his pocket speaking of all sorts of possibilities, he went to knock on Lucy’s door.

He found Lucy weeping over her letters, a long one from Aunt Joan that was also signed by Uncle Ted, and one from Carly, her best friend at school. Cormoran sighed and sat down next to her on the bed and pulled her into his arms. She cried against his chest, and he could see over the top of her head a neat recipe, copied out in their aunt’s handwriting, for raisin flapjacks. Joan and Lucy loved to bake together. Rage swelled in him again, at this stupid place where they didn’t belong, at his mother for bringing them here and taking Lucy away from her family and friends in Cornwall.

He hugged her until she slowly stopped crying. She had also got money, and Cormoran was interested to note that her instinct was the same as his, to quietly put it away. He sat and watched while she tidied up her letters, and then dug under her bed and found her favourite book, slipping the money in between the pages and putting the book back in the box with the others.

She wiped her eyes again just as the gong reverberated through the house. Supper time. With a sigh Lucy straightened her clothes, pulling her jumper sleeves down over her hands, and looked up at him. She looked terribly vulnerable, her eyes puffy and her figure as always hidden away, and the protective anger pierced him again. He could see she didn’t want to endure a fifteen-person meal.

“Let’s ask if we can eat up here,” he suggested, but Lucy shook her head at once.

“I don’t want to make a fuss,” she whispered.

And there was the difference between them, Cormoran thought. He’d have happily kicked up a stink, given Leda something to think about besides her own stupid self. But Lucy was horrified by anything that drew attention. He was sure she’d have happily become invisible if it was possible.

He swallowed his anger and nodded, giving her a cheerful grin. “Let’s go, then.”

Taking courage from him, she squared her shoulders and followed him down the stairs.

Leda had kept two places next to her for them. Cormoran sighed and slid into the seat one away from her, letting Lucy take the space between them. A huge nut and lentil roast had been baking all afternoon and there were jacket potatoes to go with it and fresh tomatoes from the greenhouse.

It was wholesome, healthy food, but Cormoran found he had little appetite all of a sudden. He forced himself to eat some while Lucy picked at hers, and he wondered if the local town that could be reached by bus had a burger place. He imagined bringing back a huge, juicy beef burger and eating it at this smug, healthy dining table in front of all the stupid smiling faces.

Leda was full of bits of gossip from Joan. She quizzed them about their letters, and Lucy answered quietly, passing on news from Carly. Cormoran was monosyllabic, barely able to articulate words or swallow food around the resentment towards his mother that burned in his stomach. Leda swiftly gave up, clearly not wanting a scene at the supper table.

Cormoran could feel Star’s cool green gaze on him, and was more than happy to extend his anger to include her too.


	4. Wood Cutting

The next day was not a good one. Cormoran awoke out of sorts, his dreams twisted full of memories of Cornwall, vague longings to see Louise again or maybe somehow manage to snog Freya (unlikely, with Jackson around) and, throughout the whole, Star in the background, watching him, judging, setting him on edge with the appraisal in her deep green eyes. He awoke tangled in his sheets, half angry and half aroused. The arousal he was well practised at dealing with these days, but the anger lingered longer.

He showered in the bathroom along the hall with its ancient plumbing, and shaved in the little mirror above the sink. His moustache needed almost daily shaving these days. His Uncle Ted had told him when he gave him the razor and a can of foam that he’d soon be having to shave every day, having inherited his uncle’s thick, wiry hair. He wondered as he towelled off his sparse chest hair whether that, too, would end up as thick as Uncle Ted’s. None of the other boys at school had much to speak of yet.

He was monosyllabic at breakfast, avoiding his mother and her friends, and took himself off alone after the dishes were done to try to walk his anger and resentment off.

A full circuit of the outside edge of the commune and some of the neighbouring fields brought him back round to the corner of the field where he and Lucy had spent the first morning with Freya and Jackson. Here he stopped, and lay in the sun for a while, staring at the clouds and wishing he had a cigarette, forcing his mind blank, until the dinner gong went.

He was sorely tempted to ignore it, but reluctantly hauled himself to his feet. He knew Lucy didn’t want him to make a scene. It was too soon yet to be testing boundaries.

After lunch, he and Jackson were sent to the barn to chop up logs for the wood-burning stoves and the outdoor fire pit. A gathering was planned for the following night to celebrate the full moon, and a fire would be lit. Freya and Lucy were to help with the baking of cakes and treats.

The young men were still wary around one another, and hadn’t spent any time together without their sisters present. Lucy and Freya were getting along reasonably well, and their connection made the whole group work. Without that buffer, Cormoran and Jackson didn’t have much to say to one another.

They worked in silence, an axe each, chopping the logs into smaller pieces. Taller and more heavily built, Cormoran was the stronger, but Jackson was better practised and missed less often, using his weight to swing the axe more effectively. Unspoken, it became something of a competition to see who could chop the most, swinging their axes, grunting with the effort, the logs piling up behind them, until Cormoran swung too wildly and missed the log entirely, the axe bouncing off the concrete floor with a clang that almost wrenched it from his hands and sent a painful shockwave up his arms. Reeling back, he heard Jackson’s snigger behind him, and the rage that had been simmering all day exploded.

“Fuck you!” he swore, swinging to face the older boy, the axe still at his side. Jackson took a half step back and for a few moments they faced one another, panting, sweating, each holding an axe.

Cormoran dropped his with a clatter and stalked off, round behind the barns. In one corner of the small fruit orchard behind, there were a few stumps of felled trees. He sat down on one, pulling the front of his T-shirt up to wipe the sweat from his face, catching his breath.

His rage had abated somewhat. He sat for long minutes, staring at nothing, numb. He could hear the thud of the axe as Jackson carried on chopping wood, and knew he should go back, but he couldn’t bring himself to. He felt a sudden tug of despair at the thought of being stuck in this stupid place for months.

Glancing up, he saw Star approach round the corner of the barns. He sat up a little straighter. The last thing he wanted or needed right now was a lecture from one of his mum’s friends, or a reminder of the commune’s stupid rules. He wondered if she had witnessed the incident in the barn. The outbuildings were open-fronted and clearly visible from the house.

She approached but didn’t speak, and sat down on a nearby stump, not next to him and not facing him, just sitting near him, her long skirts swooping down between her knees. He could see a tattoo of some kind of vine on her shoulder that coiled down below her vest top. He’d not noticed it before.

They sat in a silence that stretched. Presently Star removed two roll-up cigarettes from behind her ear and passed him one. Cormoran hesitated, then took it. She handed him a lighter, and he lit the cigarette and passed it back.

“Thanks,” he muttered as she lit her own.

She grinned at him, exhaling smoke. “I’m not as square as you think I am.”

He looked at her properly for the first time, and suddenly realised he’d been assuming that she was his mother’s age because they were friends. But she didn’t possess Leda’s laughter lines around her eyes or the silver flecks in her hair. He wondered how old she was.

Her green eyes held his, and he looked away. There was a pause. Cormoran smoked his cigarette and wondered what she wanted.

“You don’t want to be here,” Star said finally. It was a statement, not a question.

_No shit, Sherlock._ Cormoran shrugged.

She smiled gently at him. “Give us a chance, hey? We’re not all that bad.”

He drew on his cigarette again and flicked ash onto the ground. “Lucy’s better off in Cornwall, where she knows everyone and her friends are.”

Star’s face grew serious. “You’re very protective of your sister.”

Cormoran looked away. “Someone has to be.”

“Do you think Leda isn’t?”

“Leda—” it was odd calling his mother by her first name, but this was that kind of place “—only thinks about herself.”

Star smoked and gazed at the back wall of the barn opposite them. “If that’s the way you choose to see it.”

_Hippie bullshit._ Cormoran drew on his cigarette and said nothing. He’d learned long ago not to argue with Leda’s friends and their wacky ideas.

She stood, and turned to face him. She was tall, looking down at him as he sat on the tree stump with the cigarette between his fingers.

“We all have a choice in how we see the world, Cormoran. Maybe Leda just wants a different life for you, a freer one.”

He pulled his gaze from her face, not wanting her to see his scepticism, and his eye drifted sideways and down. Her hand was on her hip, her bangles bunched at her wrist, and a tuft of blonde hair sprouted from her armpit. An inexplicable bolt of lust hit him at the sight of that body hair that every girl and woman he knew - including Leda - removed, and he hurriedly dropped his gaze back to the grass around his feet, a flush rising in his face and his heart pounding. Heat poured through his veins and he suddenly desperately wanted her to go away.

Star shrugged. “Think about it,” she said, and turned and went back towards the house.

Cormoran sat on the tree stump and smoked the cigarette down to a tiny stub, his fingers trembling.


	5. Full Moon

Cormoran had hoped to get in and out of the kitchen early the next morning, but was still finishing his toast, a mug of tea in front of him, when Star came down.

“Morning,” she said cheerfully.

“Morning,” he muttered back. Blushing, he grabbed the local newspaper from further down the table and pretended to be absorbed in it while she filled the kettle at the kitchen tap. She lifted the ring on the range and set the kettle on the hot plate.

“Looking forward to the party tonight?” She was spooning bits of dried flower into a mug, not looking at him. Cormoran grunted noncommittally and turned the page.

Leda wandered in, rescuing him from any further conversation, and smiled fondly at him. “Morning, darling.” She ruffled his hair, stroking her fingers through it like she used to when he was little, and he ducked out of her reach, not wanting the gesture that felt patronising, but also, for reasons he didn’t want to think too carefully about, not wanting Star to see her do it. Leda dropped her hand away without comment and turned to greet her friend.

The women made tea and chatted, sat down with the bread and the butter dish between them. Cormoran stole covert glances at them from his seat halfway down the table. He could see, now he was looking properly, that Star was quite a bit younger than his mother. This made him wonder how old Rowan was, but he definitely looked more Leda’s age.

Star was wearing a pretty blouse today with her habitual long skirt, the vine tattoo hidden but the bangles ever present. He thought about that tuft of hair he’d seen, and wondered if she shaved her legs. Heat coiled through him and he turned his attention back to the newspaper. As soon as his tea was finished he left, wandering off to the book room in search of something new to read.

There wasn’t much on offer. Lots of books on self sufficiency and land management. Books on herbs and their medicinal uses, some mystical-looking ones with symbols on, that he didn’t even bother to look at. A few old novels. He eventually selected book of poetry that looked to be the least boring item on offer, and retired back upstairs.

The day passed, and the level of excitement around the commune grew. The men enlarged the fire pit in the clearing at the front end of the orchard and began to stack it with stones and the piles of wood. Tables were brought out and set up nearby. Star found long strings of fairy lights in one of the store rooms and strung them through the trees while Rowan connected an extension cable to the back of the barn to plug them into. The kitchen was a hive of activity, with bowls of food being prepared. Bear had hauled a crate of empty bottles from a shed and washed them, and was filling them with home-brewed beer and wine from his brewing room just off the kitchen, lining them up on the table ready to be taken out to the orchard.

The little children chased about, shrieking, picking up on the excitement in the air. The teenagers loitered, did any jobs asked of them, watched. Cormoran noticed Jackson slyly swipe a bottle of beer from Bear’s line, and he did the same. He followed the older boy outside and across to the end of the barn by the hedge next to the field. He watched where Jackson hid the bottle, and without speaking added his to it. Jackson nodded at him. Half an hour later, Freya quietly liberated a bottle of wine and added it to the stash.

Cormoran wondered if he should have sourced some cigarettes, but it was too late in the day now. The village shop would be closed before he could get there. He’d have to hope to scrounge a few more from Jackson, if the offer were forthcoming.

The party began before the moon rose. It being only just past mid summer, it would be light for hours yet. A cassette player had been brought out to the orchard and music was put on. The fire was lit and the food laid out along the tables, a pile of plates and forks at one end. There were jacket potatoes, salad from the greenhouses, loaves of fresh bread, huge bowls of vegetable and kidney bean chilli and a chickpea curry.

The small children ran around the orchard. The fire crackled. The music played. Everyone ate, and the teenagers sat off to one side in a small group, watching proceedings. The moon rose and was greeted cheerfully (Cormoran joined in because it meant he was passed a glass of beer by one of the grownups) and someone produced a guitar and switched the cassette player off.

Darkness began to fall, and by unspoken agreement the teenagers slipped away one by one, round to their place in the field. Freya crawled through the hedge and retrieved their stolen alcohol to bring along, and Jackson produced a pack of cigarettes.

Cormoran offered him some money, but was waved away. Thinking of Uncle Ted’s money in his pocket, he promised to go and buy some the next day to return the favour. Even the thought of spending his uncle’s money on cigarettes made him feel guilty, but it wasn’t as though he’d been specifically told not to.

They passed the wine bottle around, taking swigs from it. Lucy took a few sips, but shuddered every time and eventually started passing the bottle straight on when it came to her. Freya’s cheeks grew rosy. Cormoran felt warm and mellow and, for the first time, not entirely unhappy to be here. He and Jackson left the last of the wine to Freya and started on the beers.

The girls chattered amongst themselves and giggled. Cormoran caught Freya’s eye a couple of times, and was reasonably hopeful that he was making some progress. He was pretty sure that the looks he was getting back contained an element of flirting, albeit wine-fuelled. He was playing it deliberately cool, though, unsure of Jackson’s reaction and wanting to preserve the fragile peace that had sprung up between them tonight.

Football was always a good topic of conversation. The boys discussed the coming season. They lit second cigarettes and lay down, looking up at the stars, beers finished.

“I’m going to bed,” Lucy said presently. Cormoran raised his arm to his face and squinted at his watch, raising his other hand to press the button to illuminate the display. He was surprised how late it was. He rolled to his feet, staggering a little as he did so, suddenly aware that he was more drunk than he’d realised. “I’ll walk you.”

“I can walk her,” Jackson offered.

Cormoran hesitated. Jackson had sat up and was watching him coolly in the moonlight, his blue eyes, paler than his sister’s, cast in shadow, inscrutable. But Cormoran suddenly understood exactly what was hanging, unspoken, in the air. Jackson was offering to leave Cormoran and Freya alone together, giving Cormoran an opportunity to try his luck, but the trade-off was him going off with Lucy.

Cormoran didn’t even have to glance at his sister. “It’s okay, thanks, I’ll go. Need a piss anyway,” he said lightly.

Jackson laughed. “You can piss in the hedge,” he retorted, but he lay back down.

“Come on,” Cormoran said to Lucy, and she scurried along behind him, back up the field towards the house. Cormoran stumbled over lumps of sod and tree roots, unsteady in the dark and more tipsy than he’d ever been before.

They reached the rear of the house without incident, and Lucy slipped in the back door to the kitchen. “Tell Mum I’ve gone up?”

Cormoran nodded, filled with affection for his little sister suddenly. She didn’t want to broach the orchard and the partying grownups with their music that was quite loud now. He gave her an awkward one-armed hug, and she giggled up at him. “Are you drunk?”

He shrugged. “Maybe. Tiny bit,” he said, grinning at her, and she giggled again and hugged him back, then stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek.

“Don’t get too pissed,” she said, and then she was off up the stairs with a wave. Cormoran watched her go, smiling. She’d be far happier curled up in bed with a book.

He meandered down the hallway to the toilet and emptied his bladder, and headed back out to the orchard. The evening was warm, the air smelled of blossom and good food, the fairy lights twinkled in the trees, the beer and food were warm in his stomach. Perhaps Norfolk wasn’t so awful after all.

In the orchard, curled up under a tree facing the fire, Leda was sat on Rowan’s lap, kissing him. He had one hand in her hair and the other on her thigh, bunched in her skirts. They kissed slowly, oblivious to the party going on around them.

Cormoran suddenly remembered exactly why he hated this place. Bristling with anger, he marched up to the table and filled a glass with beer. Nobody stopped him. The younger couple were rounding up the children to put to bed. Jackson and Freya’s parents were chatting to Bear and Rainbow. Star was wandering among the trees, singing along to the music. And his mother didn’t even notice his presence, too busy sticking her tongue down Rowan’s throat.

Cormoran stood to one side, drinking his beer, trying to work out what to do. Fierce resentment towards his mother simmered in him and he wanted another cigarette, but he didn’t want to stumble all the way back to where Jackson and Freya were. Nor did he want to stay here. Or go to bed. Eventually, sick of watching his mother and Rowan, but somehow unable to keep his gaze from flicking back towards them repeatedly, he left and crossed the yard back to the house.

Behind him, the track on the mix tape finished and the next started, and his heart twisted. Waterloo Sunset, one of Leda’s favourite songs from before he was born. He had a sudden, vivid memory of her singing it to him as she settled him into bed when he was little, toddler Lucy in the next bed. Wherever they happened to be living, it had once been a constant thread through their lives, Leda singing to them at bedtime.

Tears filled his eyes, and he stamped furiously across to the house, cursing himself for his sentimentality. He wasn’t a little boy who needed his mum to sing to him any more.

It was the alcohol talking, he decided. He took a last gulp of his beer, and poured the rest down the kitchen sink and stood and gazed out of the window. He couldn’t hear the music so well from here, nor see his mother snogging her new man, and he began to feel a little calmer.

“Are you okay?”

Cormoran jumped at Star’s voice behind him. He hadn’t heard her approach. He spun round a little too fast, and must have swayed because she put her hand out, taking his arm.

She’d never touched him before. She’d never stood this close to him before. Her green eyes were luminous in the soft light in the kitchen, lit only by lamps stood about the place, the main light above them switched off.

“I’m fine,” he muttered, a little late, then, on tipsy impulse, “Have you got any cigarettes?”

She grinned up at him, and rummaged in a pocket in her voluminous skirt, producing a pack of rolling tobacco. She stepped away from him and sat down on one of the chairs to roll two cigarettes.

 _Make some conversation_. “Good party.”

She laughed a little and nodded. “We try to do it every full moon. It’s just an excuse, really. It’s Bear’s thing. He says it’s important to celebrate something together regularly, bonds the group.”

She expertly rolled the first cigarette, running her tongue along the edge of the paper and sticking it down. She passed it across and Cormoran muttered his thanks. He put it to his mouth, acutely aware that it had just been in hers, wishing he hadn’t noticed or cared. His feelings towards Freya were much less complicated and confusing, but he realised her appeal was starting to wane.

Star was hardly a acceptable or, indeed, attainable replacement, though.

She finished rolling her cigarette and stood, passing him the lighter. Cormoran lit his cigarette and passed it back, and they smoked in quiet for a few minutes, leaning back against the sink and the counter next to it, side by side.

Cormoran glanced at her, and she was watching him with those eyes that saw right into him. He could feel his cheeks grow hot at once.

“How old are you, Cormoran?” she asked suddenly.

“Seventeen.” The lie was so well practised by now, it slid smoothly from his lips even in his tipsy state. Bold suddenly, he threw the question back. “How old are you?”

She laughed, unperturbed. “You’re not supposed to ask a lady that. Twenty-three,” she replied.

Taken by surprise, Cormoran blinked. She was a lot younger than he’d assumed. “So how old is...your brother?”

She smiled gently at his slight hesitation. “You saw them, then.”

Cormoran dropped his eyes to the floor and drew on his cigarette. He couldn’t even begin to articulate his feelings on that subject.

“Thirty-three,” Star answered finally. “How old is Leda?”

“Thirty-five.” He told the truth without realising his mistake. “She was really young when she had us,” he added hurriedly.

Star nodded. “She must have been.” She dropped her cigarette end into a coffee mug and it extinguished with a little hiss in the dregs.

“Yeah, Rowan’s ten years older than me,” she went on. “It’s just been me and him for years, since our parents died. He’s always looked after me.”

She looked up at him, so close now, and gently took the end of his cigarette from his fingers and dropped it into the coffee cup with hers. “Just like you look after Lucy.”

Her eyes were limpid pools of green, and her tongue tasted of smoke and the rich, hoppy beer. The kitchen, the commune, his mother and her boyfriend all vanished. There was only the taste of Star and the sudden, fierce lust that swamped him. Kissing her was nothing like his tentative but increasingly well-practised attempts with girls at school. She was sure and confident, her tongue twining with his, her hands sliding into his curly hair that was already getting too long. His hands were at her waist, and he could feel the curve of her hip. Her body was pressed against his, her breasts soft against his chest, and he knew she’d be able to feel just what an effect she was having on him though her skirts.

It had been both an age and not nearly long enough when she finally drew back. Breathing hard, trembling, speechless, he stared down at her. Her lips, slightly swollen from kissing him, curved into a smile.

“Good night, Cormoran,” she murmured, and turned and walked back out of the kitchen.


	6. Hangover

Cormoran awoke early the next morning feeling terrible. His head ached, his stomach churned, his mouth tasted awful. He’d slept badly, the room lurching whenever he tried to turn over in bed, Star haunting his every dream when he did manage to fall asleep.

He lay for a long time, thinking about last night, unable to quite believe it had happened. It seemed inherently wrong, somehow, that he had managed to snog a woman who was his mother’s friend more than his. But every time he remembered the feeling of her hips under his hands, her soft breasts against his chest, her tongue in his mouth, the heat and hunger surged again. He remembered her green eyes gazing up at him, the curve of her lips, that tattoo that snaked down the back of her shoulder, and he groaned and rolled over onto his stomach, pressing his aching erection against the mattress.

By the time he’d dealt with that, showered and dressed and forced down a mug of tea and a slice of toast, he was feeling considerably better. The whole house was silent, slumbering away the excesses of last night’s party. Half hopeful and half terrified he’d bump into Star in the kitchen again, Cormoran was jumpy and on edge. Eventually he decided a walk would be the best cure for both his thick head and his nerves. Checking Uncle Ted’s money was still in his pocket, he pulled his trainers on and set off for the nearby village.

It was a good twenty-minute walk, and he was feeling considerably brighter by the time he got there. In the village shop, he selected a can of Coke and a Yorkie bar for himself and a Flake for Lucy, and he took a deep breath and approached the counter. His eyes hurriedly scanned the packs of cigarettes behind the shop owner, and alighted upon a gold packet that he recognised from the cricket club. One of Uncle Ted’s friends smoked those.

He put the can and the chocolate bars on the counter. “Twenty Benson and Hedges, please,” he said, as casually as he could manage. “Oh, and a lighter.”

The middle-aged woman behind the counter didn’t hesitate, reaching the packet down and ringing up his purchases. He handed over one of his five-pound notes, and a minute later he was strolling back up the street, his cigarettes, lighter and change in his pocket and the Coke and the chocolate in his hand, his heart pounding.

Once out of sight of the village, he stopped on the footpath and pulled the pack from his pocket. He peeled off the wrapper and pulled out the silver paper covering the tops of the cigarettes, and slipped them into his pocket. He drew out a cigarette and lit it, and strolled on towards the commune slowly, smoking as he went.

It made him feel slightly queasy after the excesses of last night, and he dropped it to the ground when only two thirds of it was gone, grinding it out under his heel. He ate the Yorkie and opened the Coke, and was feeling much better by the time he got back to the big house.

He climbed the two flights of stairs to the top floor and knocked gently on Lucy’s door. She opened it and he grinned at her and passed her the Flake. Her eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“Thanks!” she said eagerly. “Where did you get it?”

“I was up early, went down the village,” he replied, and Lucy nodded, already untwisting the end of the yellow wrapper.

“Well, thank you,” she said again. “You coming in?”

Cormoran nodded. “I’ll get my book,” he said, indicating with his head towards his room. Lucy nodded back at him and started to turn away.

Along the hall, Leda’s door opened and Rowan came out in just his shorts. He strolled past them to the bathroom, went in and closed the door.

Brother and sister exchanged a look that spoke volumes. Tight-lipped, Cormoran returned to his room to hide his cigarettes and fetch his book.

They hid out in Lucy’s room for the morning, reading, chatting a bit. Lucy was writing a long letter back to Carly and another one for Aunt Joan, and Cormoran supposed he should write to his aunt and uncle too, and to Ilsa.

He almost told Lucy about his encounter with Star, longing to talk about it and make some sense of it, but something held him back. He didn’t think she’d understand, for one. And he wasn’t sure he could even manage to discuss what he wanted to talk about. There was no way he could articulate the painful, heady mix of hunger, lust and longing that that kiss had awoken in him. Especially not with his little sister. He tried to concentrate on his poetry, but every so often an image would jump into his head - deep green eyes, painted toenails, a cheeky smile, long blonde hair - and a feeling almost like an electric shock would jolt through him. He was having a tough time sitting still, his instincts longing for action, for something to do. He found himself wondering if any more wood needed chopping. Physical exercise would be a welcome distraction from and outlet for his feelings at the moment.

The dinner gong didn’t sound, and eventually, driven by hunger, the siblings ventured downstairs. There was plenty of last night’s food left over, so they helped themselves to lunch and sat and ate alone at the table in the quiet kitchen.

Star strolled in when they were halfway though their meals.

“Morning,” she said casually, just like always. “Well, afternoon, actually.” She shot them both a smile that was aimed somewhere between them.

“Afternoon,” Lucy replied. Scarlet-faced, Cormoran muttered something and bent over his plate, concentrating fiercely on scooping his potato out of its jacket, his heart hammering and his hands shaking.

Star proceeded to largely ignore them, making herself a cup of her weird flowery tea and a piece of toast.

“Good party,” she remarked at last, taking her tea and toast to the door with her. Lucy nodded and murmured agreement, and Cormoran choked on a piece of lettuce as Star strolled away across the yard to the orchard gate, toast in one hand and mug in the other.

Lucy regarded her brother as he coughed and spluttered and managed to swallow his food finally. “You all right?”

Cormoran nodded, his eyes watering, glad of an excuse for his red cheeks. “Just went down the wrong way.”

Lucy stared at him, and he shifted uncomfortably on his chair. Without saying anything, she turned her focus back to her plate.


	7. The Row

Cormoran orbited Star cautiously for a day or two, but she behaved as though nothing had happened between them. Which he supposed it hadn’t really. One kiss at a party. He was clearly overthinking things. He wondered if she’d been drunk too. Everyone had been drinking that night.

Leda and Rowan were suddenly inseparable. Every night either Rowan was up on the top floor in Leda’s room, or she slept downstairs in his. She spent all her days with him and Star, discussing who knew what - Cormoran wasn’t really interested - and smoking pot. Her long, elegant hand was always entwined with his.

Cormoran kept himself to himself and watched from a distance, eyeing the body language between his mother and her new boyfriend anxiously. Leda had not always been the best judge of character, very quick to form passionate new friendships and relationships and assume the best of people she hardly knew.

Star was often with them, and Cormoran watched her too, trying to make sense of his own sudden obsession. Freya had all but vanished from his thoughts now. There was only Star, with her floor length skirts and deep green eyes and soft lips. His thoughts returned again and again to their kiss, and his cheeks burned whenever their eyes met, but he was growing bolder, holding her gaze almost defiantly.

Lucy finally persuaded him to sit down one evening and write letters to go with hers back to Cornwall. They’d go down to the village tomorrow and buy an envelope and a stamp. His letter to Joan and Ted flowed easily, thanking them for the money, describing the commune and the surrounding area, the daily routines and their lives there.

Ilsa’s letter took much longer. There was so much that he wanted to tell her, that he might have told her had she been here, face to face, but couldn’t bring himself to commit to paper. He wasn’t sure he’d even do a decent job of describing what was going though his head at the moment. He mentioned Rowan, and his assumption that that was the real reason they were here, and he described Jackson and Freya, but he felt like he was leaving most of the story out. He hovered over the letter for some time, and then sighed, impatient with himself, and signed off. Some things couldn’t be told in a letter.

He went to find Lucy and tell her his letters were done. She wasn’t in her room, so he left the folded papers on her bed and went to look for her.

He found her in the kitchen, sat at the table alone, tense.

“Hey, Luce,” he said, sliding into the seat next to her. “What’s up?”

Lucy turned miserable eyes to him. “They’re fighting.”

He didn’t need to ask who she meant. Cormoran stiffened, the old, helpless fear stealing over him. Were they to yet again be forced to stand by and watch while a man treated their mother badly and she let him?

“Where are they?”

“Orchard.”

Cormoran stood abruptly and marched out of the door and across the yard to the gate. He leaned on it and listened. He could hear the raised voices coming from behind the barn, Rowan’s on a long spiel, Leda’s plaintive and conciliatory. He gritted his teeth as he listened, but he couldn’t catch many words.

“Everything okay?” Star had appeared next to him. How did she keep sneaking up on him like that? Cormoran glanced at her and looked away.

“Fine,” he said shortly. “I’m going to take Lucy upstairs.”

He turned and walked off, leaving Star listening to the arguing voices. He didn’t look back.

“C’mon, Luce, let’s head up,” he said kindly as he stepped back into the kitchen.

She looked up at him anxiously. “What about Mum?”

He shrugged. “Star is there, and there are lots of people about. The place is full. She’s not in any danger.” _And we can’t stop her letting him treat her like crap,_ he thought.

Lucy knew. She nodded miserably and stood. Cormoran slid his arm around her shoulders, and they went down the hallway to the stairs. They climbed to their top floor, and Cormoran left his door open while Lucy pottered back and forth to the bathroom, having her shower, brushing her teeth, getting herself settled and ready for bed.

She poked her head in his door to say good night, and he smiled at her. “Okay?”

She nodded, hugging herself, her arms wrapped around her torso. “Yeah, I’m all right.” She hesitated, and gave him a small smile. “Thank you.”

He grinned at her, and she grinned back. “I’m always here, Luce.”

“I know.”

She disappeared to her room and closed the door. Cormoran sighed and lay back on his bed.

There was a perverse pleasure, he would admit only to himself, that Leda’s relationship with Rowan was already rocky. He wouldn’t wish it on his mother, but the sooner the relationship foundered, the sooner they could go back to Cornwall and escape this stupid place.

He lay, drifting, for a while, idly thinking about the cigarettes stashed in his box of school books and contemplating going to find Jackson and suggesting they sneak off for a smoke. But it was late, and he wanted to be near Lucy. And Leda might come back upset.

Eventually he got up and took himself slowly through getting ready for bed, showering, changing into a clean T-shirt and boxers, brushing his teeth. He got into bed and read for while. All was quiet from Lucy’s room and there was no sign of Leda. Eventually he put his book down, turned his light off and lay in the dark, listening, waiting.

He must have half drifted to sleep, because he didn’t initially hear the soft knocking on his door. Slowly it reached his consciousness that someone was there, and he rumbled a sleepy greeting. He rolled to face the door as it opened and a figure slipped in, expecting Lucy.

It was Star.


	8. Moon and Star

Cormoran lay frozen for a moment, looking at her, then half sat up. “What are you—?”

She closed the door softly and crept across to the bed. “I came to see if you’re all right.”

The only light in the room was the soft glow of the moon through the window, and a little light from the landing filtering in around the door. Heart pounding, Cormoran wasn’t sure what to do.

The question was answered for him. Star wriggled out of her skirt, dropping it in a puddle of cloth on the floor, and climbed into bed with him. He scooted over to make room, unable to quite believe that this was happening, and before he’d had a chance to think, she was kissing him.

This time she tasted of her flowery tea, with a hint of something Cormoran hadn’t tasted himself but knew the smell of - weed. She pressed him back down against the pillows and leaned over him, kissing him slowly, and he was already lost. For days he’d wished he could kiss her again. He responded eagerly, his tongue licking into her mouth, his heart pounding. He was in bed with a girl.

He and Dave Polworth had had discussions about such an eventuality in recent months, and what one was supposed to do if and when the situation presented itself, and in what order. But Cormoran’s mind was blank now, coherent thought gone, only the incredible feeling of her body lying next to his, her breasts against his chest, her long legs tangled with his. He slid one hand into her gorgeous long hair, his fingers combing through soft tresses, and his other arm found its way around her waist, pulling her closer against him. They kissed for long minutes, and he was torturously aroused already, his body aching and heavy.

Eventually she drew pack, panting a little. “Is this okay?” she asked breathlessly. Speechless, Cormoran nodded vigorously, and she laughed a little and lay down next to him.

He didn’t want to stop kissing her. He rolled toward her, propped himself up onto one elbow and lowered his mouth to hers. She slid her arms around his neck and kissed him back passionately. His arm found its way to her waist again, and then his hand slid upwards tentatively, wondering if he dared—

She made a small sound of encouragement into his mouth, arching her back a little to press up against him, and then his hand was on her breast through her vest top. It was soft like Louise’s had been, but Star wore no bra, and her breasts were bigger than he’d realised. He slid his hand across her, exploring, cupping her, and she moaned a little beneath him, a sound that sent a bolt of pure lust through him.

He was giddy, lost in her, the feeling of her tongue in his mouth and her soft flesh under his hand too much to take in all at once. Fierce arousal and pleasure poured through him, and his groin ached in a way he’d never felt before. His cock, which had sprung to attention the moment she’d slid into the bed with him, was harder than it had ever been in his life.

Gently she pushed him away and he drew back. Smiling at him in the dim light, she half sat up, stripped off her top and cast it aside.

She looked nothing like the pictures of girls on Page 3 that had done the rounds at school. Her breasts were rounded, the nipples large and pale as far as he could see in the dim light. Instinctively he lowered his head to her, gently kissing across her skin, still stroking with his hand too. Growing bolder at her sighs of pleasure, he gently stroked across her nipple, and she groaned and arched her back. Encouraged, he did it again, and then followed with his mouth, fascinated by the way the soft flesh hardened and puckered under his tongue and with how she writhed and panted beneath him.

Her hands clutched in his hair as he sucked gently at her, and then they slid to his back, pulling at his T-shirt. He paused a moment to sit up and pull it off. He lay back down next to her and her hands stroked across him, fingers carding through his scattering of chest hair, then sliding around to stoke across his back. Pleasure rolled through him, and he shivered under her touches, but at the same time he wanted more, so much more.

Still kissing him, Star slid her hand slowly down across his stomach, and anticipation tightened within him as her fingers toyed with the waistband of his boxers. He tried to make the same encouraging noise she had, inviting her to continue, but it came out as a groan of need as her fingers dipped down below the elastic.

He felt her smile gently against his mouth, and she hitched herself up a little, encouraging him to lie back down. Her lips moved along his jaw to his ear, and still her hand crept lower.

Her mouth found his neck, and he moaned and shuddered. Louise had kissed his neck a little the first time they’d snogged, but not like this. Star nipped and sucked at him, sending bolts of pleasure through him, and her hand slid down further and gently closed around his cock.

Cormoran was unprepared for how much better it would feel when it was someone else’s hand stroking him rather than his own. She slid up and down his straining length, still exploring his neck with her mouth, and sharp pleasure gripped him, his spine hot and liquid and the ache swelling in his groin.

It was too much. Her hand slid again and he came in a sudden rush, a low groan escaping him as he pulsed into her hand, spilling against the inside of his boxers, his hips jerking helplessly. She stroked him gently through it and then drew her hand back as he buried his face in her neck, panting, his body relaxing and his face flaming.

Quiet settled over the room for a few moments. Star held him close while he got his breath back and hid his blushes, desperately hoping she wasn’t disappointed with him. He knew that wasn’t supposed to happen.

“Cormoran,” she whispered.

He swallowed. “Yeah?”

“Is this your first time?”

He hesitated, but there wasn’t a lot of point in lying. “Yeah,” he admitted hoarsely. “I’ve never...” He was intensely glad of the dark suddenly.

She nuzzled gently against his neck. “That’s all right,” she whispered back softly. “Are you sure you want to?”

“Fuck, yes.”

She chuckled. “Okay, then.”

She lay down next to him, facing him with her head next to his on the pillow, and gently kissed him. They kissed languidly for long minutes, and Cormoran drifted on a sea of pleasure, his body humming with both satisfaction and anticipation.

Presently she took his hand in hers and gently slid it down across her stomach and into her knickers. She paused a moment to push them down and wriggle out of them, and then she steered him back to her core, laying his hand against her with her own over it, guiding him, showing him how to touch her.

Cormoran was fascinated, exploring her gently. Her curls tickled his palm as his fingers caressed her. She was wetter than he’d expected, and his fingers stroked and slid, following her guidance, circling her clit, and he revelled in her soft moans of pleasure.

He hitched himself up onto one elbow and she rolled half onto her back, her legs falling open and giving him more access. Cormoran leaned down to kiss her while he stroked her, his fingers still sliding, exploring, and she moaned her pleasure into his mouth.

He broke the kiss and ran his lips across her jaw and down her neck to her chest, and she lay back, one arm around his back and the other flung above her head, no longer steering him, letting him pleasure her. He nuzzled against her, smelling and tasting her skin, kissing across to her armpit and smiling to himself as he encountered that soft hair that had first awoken his interest in her. Renewed lust pierced him, and his cock began to harden again. He rocked against her, nudging himself against her hip, and she opened her eyes and grinned up at him in the dim light. “That didn’t take long.”

He flushed a little and shrugged, grinning back, and she reached for him, pulling his mouth to hers to kiss him again, slow and unhurried.

Eventually she drew back and gazed up at him. “Are you sure?”

He nodded.

“Come here, then.” She reached for his hips, pushing his boxer shorts down. Cormoran pulled one leg out and then the other, kicking the garment aside, and then clambered over her a little awkwardly to lie between her legs. His heart pounded and his breath caught a little. This was it.

She drew him close, her hands on his hips, angling him against her, and suddenly that heat and wetness was against his cock and he groaned and jerked towards her. He slid against her and she canted her hips, and suddenly he was sliding inside.

She felt incredible, hot and tight and smooth. He slid all the way in with a long, low groan of pleasure and stopped, panting, his arms around her shoulders and his cheek pressed to hers.

“Okay?” Star whispered.

“Yeah,” he managed, trembling. “God, that’s so good.”

She grinned against his cheek. “Isn’t it?”

He pulled back a little and jerked forward again with a grunt, pleasure pulsing through him at the delicious, soft friction. Her hands on his hips guiding him, Star whispered gentle instructions in his ear, and gradually he picked up a rhythm.

In all his wonderings about sex, in bed alone at night and in discussions with friends, he’d not imagined it could feel this good. Pleasure rolled through him with every thrust. Star wrapped her legs around him and tipped her head back against his pillow, shuddering, as he found the right angle and pace, and watching her delight heightened his own. The hot, liquid feeling in his spine was spreading through him again and he knew he was close.

Star was whispering encouragement, soft, breathy sighs and chants of “yes, yes, like that” as he moved within her, drawing back further and thrusting harder, and then she gave a long, low moan and arched beneath him, her head dropping further back.

The feel of her muscles squeezing around him tipped him over the edge, and with a hoarse groan he came, pulsing into her heat, pleasure that he’d never known before swamping him in waves.

Cormoran rocked to a halt, gasping, clinging to her, awestruck. He buried his face in her neck and she wrapped her arms around him, hugging him tight as aftershocks of pleasure shuddered through him. He felt intensely vulnerable suddenly as a surge of hormones swept through him, and kept his face hidden in her hair, glad of the chance to gather himself back together.

Her hands gently stroked his back. “Okay?” she whispered softly.

He nodded into her neck. “Very okay,” he whispered back.

She tightened her arms around him briefly, then relaxed, and gradually his clinging hands around her shoulders relaxed too.

After a few minutes Star chuckled a little and nudged him. “You’re heavy,” she murmured, and Cormoran pulled back, sliding out of her. “Sorry.”

He rolled gently off her and lay down next to her, his breathing still uneven, and she turned and wrapped herself around him, laying her head on his chest.

She nuzzled in to him a little, her nose against his chest hair. “That was good.”

Still dazed and amazed, Cormoran nodded dreamily. “Yeah. So good.” Star chuckled again, a warm, low sound.

He lay with her half on top of him and looked up at the ceiling in the dim light, a goofy grin stealing across his face. Star snuggled closer, tucking her face into his neck, and his arms tightened around her. His whole body felt incredible, still zinging with pleasure, deeply relaxed. His eyelids were heavy, and he closed them and held her and breathed her and drifted.

When he next opened them, it was daylight and Star was gone.


	9. Trip to Town

Cormoran had woken early, and lay in bed for some time reliving every detail of last night in his mind. He could scarcely believe it had happened. He wondered if Dave Polworth would believe him when he told him.

He tried to work out if he felt any different. He’d thought he might, but he didn’t really. He was still just himself. It was the world that had changed, filled with pleasures he’d only been able to guess at before.

He had no idea how to proceed now. Was last night just a one-off? Or the start of something? Star had made the moves so far, so he supposed it was up to her where they went from here.

He heard Lucy moving about, and rolled out of bed to go and shower. He still felt amazing, sated and relaxed. He showered and shaved, noticing in the mirror small marks on his neck that could only be from Star. Hopefully everyone else would think they were from shaving.

He bumped into Lucy in the hall and she smiled at him. “Shall we go and post the letters today?”

“Good plan,” he said, feeling incredibly cheerful all of a sudden. “Shall we get the bus to town?”

Lucy made an O of excitement with her mouth. She loved shopping. “Yes, let’s.”

There was no sign of Star downstairs, but Leda and Rowan were in the kitchen and looked happy and relaxed together. Whatever had caused last night’s argument had clearly been resolved. Cormoran found he didn’t care as much today somehow.

Leda approved of their plans to go shopping, fetching her purse and giving them some money for the bus fare and a sandwich. Cormoran smiled and thanked her, and she gave him one of her dazzling, dark-eyed smiles that were for him and Lucy only. He felt slightly ashamed that he’d been so grumpy towards her lately, but following hot on the heels of that thought, he wondered what she’d think if she knew he’d just had sex with her friend. The thought made heat sweep through him again and he hurriedly turned away. “Ready, Luce?”

They took a flapjack and an apple each in lieu of breakfast, and walked down to the village together. Lucy had their letters in a small bag slung across her body, with her purse and the lipstick she was wearing a touch of.

The little bus was slightly late, and took an incredibly circuitous route, but eventually they were deposited at the bus station and made their way to the high street. It was a standard English rural town, centred around a church, with the usual Boots, John Menzies, WHSmith, a small toy shop, a handful of clothes shops and a Dixons. Cormoran idly looked in the window of Dixons and wondered what it would be like to have enough money to just walk in and buy a television. One day.

They strolled up the high street and found the Post Office, bought an envelope and a stamp. Lucy stood at the counter and sealed the letter, wrote the address that always felt like home on the front, and dropped it into the postbox.

Their time was their own now until the bus back. They thought about sandwiches. Cormoran counted the money they had left and eyed a small branch of Wimpy, wondering if they could afford burgers. They strolled up the high street, looking in shop windows.

“I’m just popping into Boots,” Lucy said suddenly. Cormoran nodded absently, his head full of Star, and followed her in. He loitered while she looked at the makeup and chose a mini eyeshadow palette with four shades of blue and silver and its own little brush. He wasn’t really paying attention, his mind still back in last night. Lucy moved away and he followed her dutifully up and down the aisles until she stopped and gave him an exasperated look.

He pulled his attention to the present. “What?”

“Can you just—?”

He stared at her. “What?”

Lucy lowered her voice to a whisper. “I’m going to look at sanitary towels,” she muttered. “Can you just, like, go and stand over there or something?” Her cheeks were pink.

“Shit, sorry. Yeah.” Cormoran beat a hasty retreat, his cheeks equally pink, wandering a couple of aisles over and leaving her to it.

He looked around. Boots was almost entirely a women’s shop, he thought. Endless rows of make-up, hair products, nail files. A few men’s things at the back. He wandered randomly down the next aisle, and suddenly found himself among condoms and pregnancy tests.

He stared at the little packets, and his stomach lurched. He hadn’t even thought to use one. Not that he had any, but Star might have. He should have asked. He’d been so carried away in the moment, by the unexpectedness of it, the thought hadn’t even occurred to him. What if...?

Perhaps he should get some, in case. He eyed the rows doubtfully. There were so many types. He and Dave had talked about buying some, but that had been mostly bravado. With neither of them having had any immediate prospects of requiring one, embarrassment had been stronger than need.

He glanced around, wondering where Lucy was. Could he manage to somehow get rid of her and buy some? Was he even likely to be given the opportunity to need one again?

It briefly flashed through his mind, with a twist of amusement, that Uncle Ted had probably meant his money to be for football magazines and sweets, not cigarettes and condoms, and a wry smile pulled at his mouth.

“Thinking of buying some?” Lucy was back at his side, grinning, a little Boots bag dangling from her hand.

Cormoran flushed. “No,” he muttered. “Come on, let’s go and get some lunch.” He’d have to come back if he needed any. He couldn’t bring himself to buy them in front of his little sister, and he couldn’t think of a legitimate way to get rid of her.

They strolled back up the street to Wimpy and went in and found a table. They ordered burgers and chips and chatted about this and that, and Cormoran determinedly tried to push his worries away. The consequences of his activities with Star hadn’t been anywhere near the surface of his mind last night, but in the cold light of day he was suddenly terrified, imagining being stuck in the commune for ever, trying to provide for a baby. Imagining having to tell his mother, and her _knowing_. Imagining Uncle Ted and Aunt Joan’s faces when he turned out to be just as feckless and disorganised as Leda.

“Are you all right?” Lucy suddenly asked him.

He almost told her, the urge to confess his worries burning in his chest, but still something held him back. Lucy felt so much younger than him somehow.

“Yeah, fine. Didn’t sleep much.” That, at least, wasn’t a lie.

Lucy nodded. “You’d think we’d be used to settling in to new places by now.”

Cormoran chuckled a little. “Yeah.”

They finished their burgers and made their way back to the bus station to check the times. It wasn’t long to wait, so they perched on a wall and watched the buses coming in and out. Cormoran wished he’d thought to bring the cigarettes that were still hidden in his book box.

The bus journey back seemed longer and more winding. Tired, Lucy daydreamed and gazed out of the window. Cormoran stared straight ahead and wondered if he needed to talk to Star. He couldn’t think how he would even begin such a conversation.

He wondered what it would be like to be around her, if things would be awkward now. He was in new territory. He had to assume she wouldn’t say anything to Leda. If she did, it would come out that he was only fifteen and had lied to her. He hadn’t lied with the intention of getting her into bed, but that would probably be a moot point. He wondered if it would have happened at all if she didn’t think he was seventeen.

He sighed a little. No point worrying too much. It was nearly their stop, they’d soon be back at the commune. He’d see Star at supper, no doubt.

He did indeed see Star at supper, along with the entire household. She was sat at the other end of the table with Leda and Rowan as always, and gave no indication that she even knew he was there beyond a vague smile as he and Lucy walked in.

Cormoran stole covert glances at her as they all ate. It seemed so incongruous to sit here, eating dinner in a crowded room, when just last night he’d had his tongue in her mouth, been inside her while she whispered—

Heat surged and his body began to stir beneath the table. Cormoran hurriedly dragged his thoughts to something else.

After supper was cleared and washed up, Cormoran was delighted to see Lucy shyly approach Freya and show her her new makeup. The girls chatted for a few moments, and then disappeared off upstairs together.

Cormoran had a free evening, and was too restless to read. He fetched his cigarettes from his room and slipped out of the back door, round the back of the house and into the field. Once he was out of sight behind the hedge, he took a cigarette from the packet. He lit it and drew on it deeply, and began to stroll down the field, away from the house.

“Oi, Strike!” A shout from behind him made him turn. Jackson was following him. He paused to let the other boy catch up.

“You owe me,” Jackson told him as he drew closer, and Cormoran grinned and fished the cigarette packet from his pocket. “I do.”

“I didn’t mean the fags, though you owe me those too,” Jackson replied, grinning back at him and taking a cigarette. “We were on chicken shit duty this afternoon and you left me to it.”

Cormoran had forgotten all about afternoon chores. “Fuck, sorry, man,” he said. “I forgot. Guess I owe you extra fags.”

Jackson waved him away. “Nah,” he said lightly. “Just cover for me one day, yeah?”

“I will,” Cormoran promised, and Jackson nodded. There was a sudden quiet camaraderie between them as they strolled and smoked.

“Good trip?” Jackson asked.

“Wimpy burger,” Cormoran said succinctly, and Jackson gave a shout of laughter.

“Fair enough,” he said, chortling. “Only so many lentils a guy can stomach.”

“Exactly.”

Cigarettes finished, they turned and strolled back towards the house.

“Nice to see the girls getting along,” Cormoran remarked.

“Yeah.” They were almost back at the yard now. Jackson gave him a sideways half grin. “Cheers for the ciggy. See you around.”

“See you.” Cormoran watched him go, and pondered on the subtle shift in their relationship. They weren’t exactly friends, but the enmity had dissipated somewhat.

He hovered, unsure what to do next, and across the yard he saw Star emerge from the kitchen and walk towards the orchard, a roll-up cigarette in one hand and a mug in the other. She glanced across, seeing him, and kept walking.

He waited a few minutes, then followed her round the back of the barns. She was sat on one of the tree stumps, her skirts around her, cigarette lit and flowery tea in hand. She smiled softly at him as he approached, her green eyes twinkling warm, and he grinned back. He’d not noticed how pretty she was before.

Cormoran sat down on a nearby stump and gazed at the back of the barn in front of them. Neither of them said anything.

_Come on,_ he told himself firmly. _If you can have sex, then you can talk about it._

He turned to face her. “I didn’t wear a condom,” he blurted, red-faced and cursing himself for it.

She gazed at him levelly. “It’s okay,” she replied. “I’ll do a dance to the moon goddess and pray to her not to bless me with a child this month.”

She paused a moment, sipping her tea, and then burst out laughing. “Oh, Cormoran, your face,” she said fondly, giggling softly. “I know you think we’re wacky, but not that wacky, surely?”

Cormoran blushed again and stared down at the grass. For one horrifying second he’d believed her.

“I had a coil fitted a couple of years ago. Saves having to think about any of it,” she told him. “We’re good.”

Relieved, he grinned at the ground, and cast his glance shyly across to her. He could see the soft outline of her nipple through her top, and knew she wasn’t wearing a bra again. Familiar heat surged. He wanted her.

She looked back at him, her eyes dark with pupils wide, and he fervently hoped she was feeling the same way. He stood and moved towards her, and she stood too. He hesitated just a little, then reached for her, sliding his hand up her arm and into her silky hair.

Star stepped back, glancing behind him, towards the house. “Come and find me later, if you want,” she murmured. “After eleven. You know where my room is?”

Cormoran hesitated. He knew roughly, but it wouldn’t do to get it wrong.

“Middle floor, along to the end. It’s got a little wooden star hanging on the door.”

He nodded. “I’ll see you later.” His voice came out husky with desire.

She stepped up to him and pressed a brief, fierce kiss to his lips, causing a jolt of electricity to run through him. He tried to kiss her back, his mouth chasing hers as she drew away again. “I’ll look forward to it,” she murmured, smiling, her face inches from his.

“Yeah?” He could feel the heat of her body, so close.

She grinned. “Yeah. I had a good time last night.”

He grinned back. He’d hoped so. “Me too.”

She stepped away again and glanced down and then back up, and winked.

“Save that thought,” she said cheekily, and moved past him, heading back towards the house.

Cormoran sat down on the stump she’d vacated and lit a cigarette and took some deep breaths.


	10. Learning and Talking

The next few weeks passed in a blur. Cormoran filled his days with study, with his chores, with writing back to Ilsa who sent him regular missives, with hanging out with Lucy and Freya and Jackson. He kept out of the way of his mother and her new boyfriend. Rowan seemed okay in himself, but the relationship between them was somewhat tempestuous. There were a lot of arguments and passionate reunions that Leda’s son preferred not to think about.

Mostly he thought about nothing but Star. A couple of times a week, he crept to her room or she to his, mostly decided by making sure they were not on the same floor of the house as Leda and Rowan. Cormoran lived for these nights, these stolen hours.

And he learned. He learned the taste of her, musky and earthy-sweet, and how to please her with his mouth and fingers. He learned how amazing it felt to have her mouth on him. He learned to stroke her gently with his thumb as she moved above him, her head curling forward and that incredible hair flowing around him as the pleasure took her. He learned to recognise when he was too near the edge, and what to change to slow himself down.

He learned, too, how much he enjoyed simply kissing her, happy to spend long spells of time gently exploring her mouth, languid and unhurried. He learned how much it turned him on to have her kiss his neck or draw her nails across his back. He learned every contour of her body and how she adored the attention he lavished on her breasts.

He grew in confidence the more time they spent together, the more she appeared to genuinely enjoy him. When he thought about their nights as he went about his chores or strolled down the field with Jackson, smoking, he felt as though he were walking ten feet tall.

By unspoken agreement, they’d not told Leda. Cormoran often wondered why, in Star’s case, since she was so open about everything else. Eventually one night curiosity got the better of him, and he asked her as she lay against his chest, their sweat cooling in the breeze from the open window.

“Why haven’t you said anything to Leda?” he asked softly, twining her hair around his fingers. He couldn’t stop touching it.

She shrugged lazily against him. “She’s your mother. It’s not really mine to tell,” she replied.

Cormoran thought about that. Star made everything sound so simple, so easy, so relaxed. She was living the life Leda craved, open and simple and settled.

She raised her head to look at him. “Do you want me to tell her?”

He shuddered. “God, no.”

“It’s not a shameful thing, you know. It’s just sex. It’s a bodily function that most people like and get pleasure from.”

“I know. It’s not that. It’s just...private. It’s mine. Ours.”

She nodded. “I get that.” She paused, laid her head back down on his chest. “You give your mum a hard time.”

“I don’t.” This was not a conversation he wanted to be having in bed.

“You judge her. She’s a good person, you know. She loves you guys. She’s just...a lost soul. She’s looking for something, and she hasn’t found it yet.”

Cormoran thought about that, too. “What, though?”

Star shrugged. “I don’t know. That’s her journey, and only she can make it.”

Cormoran resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He liked Star, but...

She chuckled lazily against him. “I know you don’t believe my hippie stuff.”

He said nothing. He could hardly argue.

“It’s okay. I don’t need you to believe it.”

For the first time, Cormoran wondered where they were going, what they were doing. Was this a relationship, or was it just sex? He didn’t know how to ask, wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer.

Star yawned. “You’d better go back.”

He nodded, rolled out of bed and grabbed his T-shirt and shorts. He pulled them on while Star tiptoed to the door and poked her head out. The little wooden star clanked softly against the surface of the door. “Coast’s clear.”

He kissed her lightly and slipped out past her, making his way down the corridor and up the second flight of stairs, heading back to his room.

He’d left his door open. Cursing himself under his breath, he crept in and closed it softly behind him. Too late to shower now, he’d wake people. He dropped his shorts to the floor and climbed into bed, and was soon asleep.

...

Cormoran sneaked out the next morning after breakfast, a mug of tea in his hand and his cigarettes in his pocket. He didn’t bother going out to the field, just made his way to the tree stumps in the orchard.

Lost in thought, daydreaming about Star, he didn’t see his mother approaching until it was too late to hide his cigarette. _Oh, well._ Heart thumping, he carried on smoking it.

Leda made her way across to him and sat on the next stump with her mug of tea. There was a pause.

“How long have you been smoking?” she asked finally.

Cormoran shrugged. “Not long.”

She sipped her tea and appeared to be choosing her words carefully. “I’d rather you didn’t.”

“You do it.”

Leda sighed. “I do a lot of things I’d rather you didn’t do.”

_Don’t fucking do them, then._ Cormoran sighed and took a last drag of his cigarette and dropped it into the grass, grinding it under his heel.

Leda paused again.

“Where were you last night?”

That threw him. He could feel his cheeks heating up. “What do you mean?”

“I went to the loo at midnight and your door was open. You weren’t there.”

Cormoran shrugged. “I went for a walk,” he improvised. He examined the pattern on his mug, coloured zigzags that were slightly uneven.

“At midnight?”

“I couldn’t sleep. What is this, the Spanish Inquisition?” Cornered, he was growing angry.

She turned to look at him, her eyes searching his, and his face grew hotter. He’d always been terrible at lying to her. She just knew.

“Cormoran, love, I’m only worried about you.”

“Well, don’t be. I’m fine.”

“So where were you?”

Rage swelled. _You forced us to come here,_ he wanted to shout. _So don’t blame me for making the most of it._ “I went out for a smoke, if you must know. But it’s none of your business.”

She sat up straighter. “Please don’t talk to me like that.”

_I’ll talk to you however the hell I want._ Cormoran bit back the retort. He wouldn’t, would _not_ , treat his mother like her boyfriends did. The fact that he sensed she would let him made him even angrier, made him want to rage at her to stand up for herself.

He took a deep breath and turned away, facing the barns. “Sorry,” he muttered.

There was an even longer pause. Leda seemed at a loss to know what to say.

“I wanted to show you and Lucy a different way to live,” she eventually said, quietly. “Out of the rat race. Self-sufficient. Creative. Peaceful.”

Cormoran thought about her tense relationship with Rowan, the amount of dope she’d been smoking, the fact that she hadn’t touched a paintbrush or a lump of clay since they arrived, and said nothing.

Leda sighed. “Fine. You’ll understand one day. Don’t smoke where I can see you, please.” She got up and walked away.

Cormoran sat and watched her go. His anger evaporated, and he suddenly inexplicably felt like crying instead. He longed to call her back.

He blinked and lit another cigarette.


	11. Midnight Conversations

The following week, deep in the night, Cormoran awoke, disorientated. He was in his own bed. Star slept next to him, snoring softly, one leg thrown across his in the moonlight. He lay for long minutes, wondering what had woken him.

Then he heard it. Downstairs, the slam of a door, raised voices. Leda, upset. His heart rate spiked at once and he lay tense, trying to breathe quietly, listening.

Should he go down? Would he be interfering, making things worse? Or might he be needed to protect her?

Another door slammed and he jumped. Star stirred beside him, muttered a little in her sleep, snuggled closer. He was unwilling to wake her, or to move away from her languid warmth. He lay and listened. The voices rose and fell, Rowan’s a long rant, Leda interjecting. He couldn’t make out any words.

A door below them opened, and presently Cormoran heard the deep tones of Bear’s voice, a low rumble. He relaxed a little. Bear would deal with it better than he could. He had the authority, the age, the gravitas.

All went quiet, and presently Leda’s soft footsteps came up the stairs. Cormoran could hear her sniffing a little, and thought he heard a stifled sob as her door closed.

He stared at the ceiling and wondered what to do. Should he go to her? Would she want him? Should he just let her sleep? He lay for a long time, unable to work out what was best.

Lucy’s door clicked open and he heard her padding feet. She knocked softly on his door, and before he could think or move or make any kind of decision on what to do, she opened it and slipped into the room, a ghost shadow in the moonlight.

She froze and stared at him, lying there with the sheet only to his waist, Star’s long leg flung across him and her face in his neck hidden under her hair. Then she turned away and silently went back out again.

 _Shit_. Cursing under his breath, Cormoran disentangled himself gently from Star and rolled out of the bed. He hunted for his discarded boxers and T-shirt and pulled them on, and followed his sister.

He knocked softly on her door and went in. Lucy was back in bed, but sat up and looked at him, her eyes like saucers in the moonlight. She reached across and switched her little bedside light on, casting a warm yellow glow across the room.

Unable to quite meet her eye, Cormoran crossed to the bed, climbing onto the foot of it and sitting cross-legged with his back to the wall. Lucy hugged her knees and looked at his profile.

“Was that...Freya?” she asked eventually, hesitantly. She didn’t want to believe that her new-found friend could have been sleeping with her brother without telling her. But who else could it be?

Cormoran flushed and looked down at his hands in his lap. “No. It’s Star.”

“Star? Ew, Corm, she’s _old!_ ” Lucy hissed. “She’s Mum’s friend!”

“She’s not that old,” Cormoran muttered defensively, shifting uncomfortably. “She’s nearer our age than Mum’s. Just,” he admitted.

“Huh. I thought she must be mum’s age.”

“Yeah. She’s not. She’s twenty-three.”

Lucy thought about that for a moment.

“Are you—” She hesitated, blushing. “Are you having sex with her?”

Equally red-faced, Cormoran nodded.

“Wow.” Lucy looked at him for a long moment. “What’s it like?”

“Luce!” He stared at her.

“I’m only a year younger than you.”

“A year and a half. Nearly.”

“And did you never think about it, a year and a half ago?”

Cormoran looked away, swallowed hard. “It’s, um...”

She grinned. “Well?”

A smile crept across his face. “It’s amazing. Really good.”

Lucy giggled. “That’s what Carly’s sister Jenna told her. She’s in sixth form now.”

There was a pause. Cormoran looked at the opposite wall, and Lucy picked at a bit of fluff on her blanket.

“Are you using condoms?”

Cormoran coughed a little. He couldn’t quite believe he was having this conversation with his baby sister. Suddenly he was wondering what else she knew about, and whether she might in fact be a lot older and wiser than he gave her credit for.

“No, but that’s taken care of. She’s got a coil, she said.”

Lucy nodded. “We got a leaflet all about it in PSE,” she said. “There’s loads of stuff girls can have so we don’t get pregnant.” She sat up straighter suddenly. “Wait, was that why you were looking at condoms that time in town? Because you were thinking about it?”

Cormoran flushed again. “No! No, we were already...”

“But that’s ages ago!”

He nodded.

Lucy stared at him. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me. I knew there was something going on with you.”

He glanced at her sideways. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve been...different, these last few weeks. More relaxed. I thought you’d settled in.” She giggled. “Turns out you were just getting laid.”

“ _Lucy!_ ” He stared at her, shocked.

She laughed softly. “I’m not a baby, Corm.”

He blinked. “Do I treat you like one?”

She hesitated. “I like you protecting me,” she said finally. “I feel safe when you’re here. But I’m tougher than you think.”

Cormoran nodded again and looked back down at his hands.

“Did you hear Mum and Rowan?” Lucy asked presently. “It woke me up.”

Cormoran nodded. “Me too.”

“Think I should go to her?”

He shrugged. “She’s probably asleep by now.”

“Yeah.”

There was a long silence.

“What do you think’s going to happen?” Lucy asked in a small voice.

Cormoran shrugged again. “I guess eventually they’ll split up and we’ll go back to Cornwall.”

“That would be good. Well, not for Mum, obviously. But I want to go home.”

“Yeah.”

She looked at him searchingly. “What about you and Star?”

“What about us?”

“Would you miss her?”

He hesitated a little. “I guess. But she can’t exactly come with us, and I can’t stay here.”

“Do you love her?” Lucy asked softly.

Cormoran blew his cheeks out and stared at the opposite wall. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

He thought for a long moment. “I don’t think I do. We’re very different, and she’s way older than me, and...” He paused. “But sometimes...you know, after...” He stopped. He wasn’t sure how to describe the feeling of it, the rush of hormones in the closeness after sex, the deep connection in the dark of the night.

Lucy nodded. “It must be pretty special, I guess. You can’t do that with someone and not feel close.”

He nodded.

“But I suppose it will end, at some point,” he said slowly, finally articulating things he’d been carefully not thinking about. “I don’t see it lasting, us here. And we can’t be open about seeing each other.”

Lucy’s eyes widened. “I suppose not.” Then she grinned at him cheekily. “How old does she think you are?”

Lucy knew him better than he thought she did. “Seventeen,” he muttered, and she giggled.

“I didn’t do it deliberately,” he protested. “I just said I was seventeen because I’d already said it to Jackson and Freya. I didn’t know she was thinking—” He stopped.

“I thought you fancied Freya,” Lucy mused, straightening the covers over her knees.

“I did, at first.”

“I quite fancy Jackson.”

He stared at her. “Do you? I thought you didn’t like him.”

“Well, only a bit. He is a bit of a knob,” Lucy said airily, making her brother laugh. “And you didn’t want me to hook up with him.”

“Only because I thought you didn’t want to,” Cormoran said. “And because I know how guys think,” he added darkly.

Lucy smiled at him. “I told you, I’m tougher than you think,” she said. “I don’t want to do...that yet. But a snog might have been nice.”

He looked at her curiously. “Have you snogged anyone before?”

“Maybe.” Her cheeks turned pink.

“Who?”

“James G. At the Easter disco.”

“James Gallagher? In my year?”

“Yup.” Her eyes twinkled at him.

“But...he’s way too old for you! And I was there, why didn’t I see?” Cormoran looked so scandalised that Lucy giggled.

“You were busy smooching Louise. And he _really_ didn’t want you to know.” She winked. “Can you blame him?”

He stared at her. “Am I too overprotective?”

Lucy shrugged. “Like I said, I like you being there. You’re my big brother, Corm.” She grinned. “But I might get more snogs if you were less intimidating.”

He sighed and looked at the opposite wall again, thinking about that. “Okay. I’m sorry, I’ll dial it down.”

She leaned forward and grabbed his hand. “Not too much, though,” she said, smiling softly.

He nodded and squeezed her little hand in his big one. She squeezed him back strongly.

Cormoran sat back, and Lucy hugged her knees again.

“I’d better go back to bed,” he said. Lucy shot him a sly sideways glance, but yawned and nodded.

Cormoran clambered off the bed, and Lucy wriggled back down under the covers. He moved to the door, and looked back at her. She grinned up at him.

“Love ya, big bro.”

He smiled softly. “You too. Night.”

“Good night.”

Cormoran slipped out of the door, closed it quietly and paused, listening. Silence from Leda’s room. He went along the hall to his own room and let himself back in. His bed was empty, Star gone. He climbed in, pulled the covers back over himself and lay and looked at the ceiling for a long time, thinking.


	12. Endings

The implosion happened abruptly in the end. Cormoran had vaguely assumed he’d sense when the end was coming, that things would change gradually.

The commune was busy. Fruit needed picking and preserving for winter. The greenhouses and vegetable plot were loaded with produce that needed to be harvested and stored. August was almost gone, and the heat of the days gave way to an earlier coolness at night. Summer was dying, giving up its fruits, Star said. Cormoran chuckled at her and she pulled a face at him.

The days of chores were long. Cormoran and Jackson picked fruit in the orchard. Rainbow showed them how to lay the apples carefully on palettes, checking that there were no bad ones, no hint of a bruise, and stack them in a dark cellar. Lucy and Freya peeled and peeled vegetables while Leda and Star cooked up vats of pickle to be stored in jars. The men dug the vegetable plots, bagged up potatoes and carrots in sacks.

Cormoran missed the start of the argument. After a long day of harvesting and bottling, Bear declared the work largely done and broke out a few bottles of wine from his latest brewing. The members of the household had drifted off to their various activities. Rowan and Leda were in the communal living room, trying to light a fire, but the chimney kept smoking. Cormoran sneaked out for a cigarette in the field with Jackson while everyone was busy. Lucy and Freya were off discussing makeup and clothes again. Lucy had appeared a couple of times recently in tops Freya had lent her, more fitted than she was used to, a touch of eyeshadow on her eyelids. She wanted to go back to the local town and look in the clothes shops, she said, but they’d all been too busy to go.

Cormoran strolled back to the house with Jackson and idly wondered if Star would come to his room tonight. It had been a long, busy week and he hadn’t seen her for a couple of nights. Anticipation rose in his chest, a warm glow.

A shout and a crash from the house, and he was running before he knew it. He hurried through the kitchen and burst into the living room, dimly aware of Star approaching through another door opposite.

It happened so fast. Cormoran’s eyes took in the scene in a split second. Leda was backed up against the wall, a picture smashed on the floor behind her, glass around her feet. Breathing hard, Rowan was stepping back from her, hands up, palms open, apologising. “Leda, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“You pushed me.” Her white face and trembling lips combined with her words made Cormoran see red. It was as though a fog came down over his brain. Without realising he was going to do it, he swung his fist.

It was a glancing blow, delivered with more rage than accuracy, and Rowan staggered sideways but didn’t go down. He whirled to face Cormoran who advanced, fists clenched, his eyes black with fury. Rowan threw his hands up in a defensive stance.

Leda shouted. Cormoran swung again and missed as Rowan ducked, and Rowan lashed out. Cormoran felt the punch whistle past his ear, almost grazing him.

Star grabbed her brother’s arm just as Leda flung herself between them.

“Rowan, no!” she shouted. “Don’t hit him, please. _He’s only fifteen!_ ”

Silence fell, broken only by the harshness of Cormoran’s breathing. Rowan stepped back and Star dropped his arm. Leda pushed Cormoran away, backing him across the room.

Staring over her shoulder, his eyes were locked with Star’s, registering the shock on her face.

...

Cormoran sat on the tree stump in the orchard, repeatedly clicking his lighter, watching the flame flare, letting it go out again. He’d been waiting a long time. Bear, Leda and Rowan were shut in the living room, talking. The look on Bear’s face had not been promising. Kindly as always, but sad and serious.

Lucy and Freya were still upstairs. They’d come down in the initial aftermath and hovered anxiously, but Rainbow had ushered them away. White-faced, Star had fled. Cormoran had been instructed to go for a walk and calm down, and come back. He’d walked down the field and back again, and returned to the orchard where he hovered, anxious and uncertain, unwilling to enter the house, unable to stay away.

He pocketed the lighter and looked up as Star came round the corner and slowly approached him. She sat on a nearby stump, just as she had weeks ago when she’d given him that first cigarette, and sat and rolled two in her lap. She passed one over.

Cormoran leaned to take it, pulled his lighter back out of his pocket, lit the cigarette. They sat in silence, not looking at one another.

“You should have told me,” she said eventually, quietly.

Cormoran sighed. “I know. I’m sorry.”

She looked at him with those cool green appraising eyes. “Why did you lie?”

He shrugged. “I didn’t mean to. I told Jackson and Freya I was seventeen, and I just...kept that up, I guess. I didn’t do it to—” he swallowed hard “—to get you into bed.”

She nodded. “I know. But you still should have told me.”

“Yeah.” He paused. “But I was afraid you’d stop.” He dropped his gaze back to the grass.

“I would have.”

Cormoran nodded and smoked his cigarette, any hopes that he’d harboured that this might not signal the end fading rapidly.

“What happens now?” He had to know.

Star sighed. “We’ll all be expelled. Bear doesn’t call it that, but once things aren’t working... There’s no tolerance for violence here, and my brother has a quick temper, I know that. He’s not mean, just hot-headed.”

She drew on her cigarette. “Two guys fell out last year and had a bust-up, and Bear kicked them both out. He says he wants a safe space, a kind space, to nurture children and creativity. I get it.”

Cormoran dropped his cigarette, ground it out, looked at her sideways. “I meant with us.”

Star turned to face him, and to his shock, tears shimmered in her eyes. “There can’t be an ‘us’, Cormoran. You’re fifteen.”

“Nothing’s changed,” he protested. “I’m still who I was yesterday, and the day before.”

She sighed and stood, dropping her cigarette on the grass and stepping on it. She moved over to him and stood in front of him, looking down at him. Cormoran leaned forward and rested his forehead against the softness of her stomach, his forearms on his knees.

She carded her hands through his hair that curled down onto his collar now. “Everything’s changed,” she told him softly. “I can’t see you in the same way. I’m sorry.”

He drew a shuddering sigh, tears in his eyes too all of a sudden. He nodded infinitesimally against her, breathing the scent of her, and felt her fingers tighten in his hair. Longing hung between them, and then Star stepped back and wiped her eyes.

She cleared her throat. “We’ll go back to London, I guess,” she said. “And you guys back to Cornwall?”

Cormoran shrugged, not trusting himself to speak. Star walked back to sit on her tree stump, and he dragged his sleeve surreptitiously across his eyes while her back was turned.

“I guess,” he said, a little roughly. “Leda will decide, as always.”

Star glanced at him. “Give her a break,” she said softly. “Remember she’s hurting too.”

Cormoran remembered his mother’s white face and trembling lips. He remembered it was him she’d jumped to protect. He nodded.

Star stood again and straightened her skirts. “Right,” she said briskly, and Cormoran stood too. “I’m going to go back in and see if they’ve finished talking. And maybe start packing.”

She hesitated and looked at him, and he moved closer, reaching for her.

She smiled and stepped into his arms, letting him hug her, sliding her arms around his neck. She kissed his cheek warmly, and he buried his face in her hair one last time, breathing her, his arms locked together in the small of her back.

“Do you regret it?” he muttered against her temple.

She pulled back and looked up at him. “No,” she said, smiling softly. “Life’s too short to regret stuff.” She stroked his cheek. “You never felt like a boy, Cormoran. You’re an old soul in a young body. Give yourself a break, too, hey?”

He nodded, not really understanding, wondering if he could kiss her one more time, but she stepped back and he dropped his arms away.

“And maybe don’t build relationships on lies,” she suggested gently. “It doesn’t make for trust between lovers.”

It had been a relationship, then. Not just sex. A little cheered, he grinned at her. “I won’t.”

She laughed softly. “Goodbye, Cormoran.”

“Goodbye.” He watched her walk away, and sat back down on his tree stump, feeling oddly content all of a sudden.


	13. Goodbyes

Star and Rowan left first thing the next morning, their camper van laden with all their possessions. The commune gathered to say goodbye to them. The women cried a little. Star and Leda clung to one another briefly. Rowan shook Bear’s hand, and waved sheepishly to the rest from the van. Star kissed everyone, as was her way. Her kiss on Cormoran’s cheek was as perfunctory as the one she gave Lucy, standing next to him. They’d said their goodbyes in the orchard.

Nevertheless, Cormoran’s throat tightened as the little van trundled away down the drive, bouncing in the potholes, the commune waving and calling good wishes.

A small hand slid into his and squeezed tightly. He glanced down at Lucy, and she gave him a stout smile, just like the one he always gave her when things were tough. He swallowed the lump in his throat and squeezed her back, and she grinned and dropped her hand away.

They’d packed all their belongings, boxes stacked on the kitchen table, but Leda dithered. Lucy went to find Freya to say goodbye, and Leda sat down at the table and looked around at their stuff and sighed.

Cormoran sat opposite her and regarded her levelly. “What’s wrong?”

“Rowan wants me to go to London,” she said. “But—”

Cormoran’s heart leaped. If they followed Rowan and Star... He’d be sixteen in three months. Maybe he could persuade—

He sighed. He was being ridiculous. He and Star had nothing in common, really, and she was too old for him.

“What do you want to do?” he asked her carefully.

She looked at him properly, her eyes searching his. She was looking for his anger and resentment, he knew, and was surprised not to find any.

“I guess...” She hesitated. “It’s more that I don’t want to go back to Cornwall. There’s nothing there for me.” She waved an arm. “You know that’s not what I mean. I love Ted and Joan. But it’s so... _provincial_.”

She leaned forward, her arms folded on the table in front of her. “What do you think?”

Surprised, Cormoran hesitated. What did he think? What was best?

“Is Rowan worth it?” he asked.

Leda flushed and looked down. “Not really,” she admitted. “He wasn’t always very nice to me.”

Cormoran sighed. “Why do you do it, Mum?”

“Do what?”

“Let men treat you like they do? Why don’t you stand up for yourself?” A ghost of the old resentment rose up in him. Leda stared at him, dawning comprehension on her face.

“Because the world has enough hate,” she answered quietly. “Responding to anger with more anger never solves anything. We all need to love and understand and give more to make the world a better place.”

“Not if it means being a doormat,” Cormoran said frustratedly.

Leda thought about that. “I’m no doormat,” she said at last. “Just because I won’t enter into ridiculous arguments about unimportant things doesn’t mean I don’t get my point across in other ways.”

Suddenly he could see in her that hint of determination he’d seen in Lucy. He thought about Uncle Ted’s quiet, gentle yet somehow commanding presence. He thought about the things Star had said.

“I think we should go back to Cornwall,” he said suddenly. “I want to finish school, and Lucy misses her friends.”

Leda nodded. “You’re right, of course,” she said. “Cornwall is where we need to be, at least until you guys are done with your schooling. I can’t keep schlepping you about now you’re bigger.”

 _You probably will anyway,_ Cormoran thought, but it was a fond feeling that accompanied the thought where it might once have been resentment.

Leda stood and handed him the car keys. “You start loading up, I’ll go and find Lucy,” she said. Cormoran nodded and stood too, reaching for the nearest box.

She moved to the door and turned back. “Thank you, Cormoran,” she said, and he nodded.

“I love you,” she told him quietly, and he blushed a little and nodded again. “Love you too, Mum.”

She grinned, that big, brown-eyed grin, and went to find her daughter.

Within half an hour they were ready to go. The commune assembled again. Cormoran shook Jackson’s hand, waved to Freya, thanked Bear and Rainbow. He muttered an apology to Bear as they shook hands, and the older man chuckled and laid a hand on his shoulder, suddenly reminding Cormoran of his Uncle Ted. “You’re a good lad,” he told him. “Find an outlet for that anger, eh? Don’t let it eat you up from the inside.”

Cormoran nodded. He’d had enough homespun truths to last him a lifetime, this summer. “I won’t,” he promised.

Lucy hugged Freya and promised to write, and climbed into the back of the car, wrapping herself in a blanket. She pulled her Walkman over her ears, and balled up her jumper into a pillow and leaned it on the window.

Cormoran opened the other rear door, and Leda looked back at him from the driving seat. She twisted to look at Lucy, settling down, and turned back to him.

“Why don’t you come sit up front with me?” she asked him.

Cormoran looked at Lucy, who waved him away. “I’m going to sleep all the way,” she said. “It’s so boring.”

Cormoran looked back at Leda, and she grinned and patted the seat next to her. “Come and chat to me,” she said. “You can map-read and keep me company.”

He grinned back. “Okay.”

Cormoran slammed the rear door and climbed into the front, and Leda reversed neatly out of the barn. With cries of goodbye, they drove down the bumpy drive and pulled out onto the road.

Cormoran glanced into the back. Lucy grinned at him and snuggled down onto her jumper pillow, pulling her blanket up. She switched on her Walkman and the tinny sound echoed faintly.

He smiled and turned back to the front. Leda swung the car from the lane onto a more main road, and Cormoran picked up the road map and started to hunt for the page they were on.

Leda began to sing Waterloo Sunset as the little car chugged steadily towards Cornwall.


	14. Epilogue

“Boxing, eh?” Ted grinned at his nephew.

Cormoran shrugged. “I thought I might give it a go. Looks like a good way to work off a bit of energy, get fit, and running’s not really my thing.” Bear’s words echoed in his head.

Ted looked thoughtful. “I’m pretty sure Clive’s son boxes. I’ll ask him where he goes.”

“Thanks.” Cormoran buried his head in his tea. Behind him, bustling in and out of the kitchen, making toast, fetching marmalade, his Aunt Joan was in her element with them all back. Leda was still in bed, exhausted from yesterday’s long drive and then staying up late having a heart-to-heart with her brother.

Lucy sat at the other end of the table with her tea. She was wearing a touch of lipstick, and her fringe had finally grown long enough to tuck behind her ears. Joan had promised to take her into St Mawes to do some clothes shopping this morning. They would pick up uniform and stationery, too. It was only a few days till the start of term.

“Please can I have a lift into town?” Cormoran asked suddenly. “I need a haircut before school, and I might call in and see Dave.”

“Of course.” Joan smiled at him.

“I’ll go and check the car over for you,” Ted said, and pottered off, whistling happily. Joan set the toast on the table and went back to the kitchen.

“You all right?” Lucy asked in a low voice.

Cormoran smiled at her. “Yeah, I’m good,” he said, and he meant it. His hand slid into his pocket and closed around the little wooden star he’d found in his book box next to his cigarettes, its string wrapped around it. He wasn’t sure what to do with it yet. It would probably end up living in the box where no one would ask any questions about it. But for now it was in his pocket.

Lucy nodded. “I thought we might—”

She broke off with a frown at the sound of hammering on the back door. Cormoran went to open it, and with a squeal a small whirlwind of Ilsa swept into the house and threw her arms around him. He squeezed her back, grinning, and then she was turning to hug Lucy.

“I saw your mum’s car in the drive and knew you must be back!” she cried. “I can’t stop, Mum’s waiting in the car, we’re going food shopping and I promised to help. But I just had to come and say hi.” She grinned at them both. “I want to hear all about it, that commune sounds far out, man.” She made a peace sign and they both laughed. “You guys free later?”

“Yeah, we’re going to town this morning but we’re in this afternoon,” Cormoran told her.

“Great,” she said, already hurrying out the door. “I’ll be back. And I’ll bring cake!”

Cormoran and Lucy laughed and waved her off, and Joan came back from the kitchen with a plate of crumpets. “Did I hear Ilsa?”

“Yeah. She’s coming back later,” Cormoran said, and Joan smiled.

“Oh, lovely,” she said. “I might bake a cake.”

Lucy giggled.

“Come on, then, you two, eat up. You need feeding up if you’ve been eating rabbit food all summer,” Joan told them, and they sat back down at the table.

...

“Diddy! You’re back!” Dave Polworth stood in his front doorway, a broad smile on his face. “Impressive hair. How was space camp?”

Cormoran grinned his big grin. “Epic, man,” he drawled, and Dave laughed. “Want to come and grab a burger?” he added. “And don’t worry, the hair’s going if the barber’s can fit me in.”

“Sure.” Dave snatched his coat down from the peg. “I’m going out with Corm,” he shouted into the house and, on hearing an acknowledgement, slammed the front door behind him. The two set off down the street and turned into the alley that cut through to the main road into St Mawes. Joan and Lucy had dropped Cormoran off at the top of Dave’s road.

Dave nudged Cormoran with his shoulder as they strolled. “So, what did you get up to at a boring hippie commune all summer? Any totty?”

Cormoran grinned. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you, mate.” He pulled the gold packet from his pocket. “Cigarette?”

Dave stared. “Bloody hell, mate, we’ve got some catching up to do,” he said. “Put those away till we get to the pier, eh? I know everyone round here.”

Cormoran nodded and slid the packet back into his pocket. His fingers lingered for a moment on the little wooden star, and a grin stole across his face as they rounded the corner.


End file.
